


The Great Northern

by bun_o_ween



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: ... and bullets, Adult Ciel - Freeform, Hispanic Sebastian, M/M, Mentions of Rape, Size Difference, Slow Burn, Slurs, Southern Bell Ciel, Western AU, bad boys catching feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2019-05-05 18:19:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 136,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14624355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bun_o_ween/pseuds/bun_o_ween
Summary: There's an old tale about twins. Kill one, and the other goes insane.In the harsh west, a blood-thirsty bounty hunter won't let a silly rumour get between him and the Phantomhive inheritance. This is a story of revenge.





	1. Prelude

 

 

**PRELUDE**

 

 

**23rd of September, 1875**

On the banks of the southern Mississippi lay the town of Clementine.

In the summer it was humid and sticky. Autumn was not dissimilar. The beetles droned across the riparian land. The earthy miasma of the river rose up to the duck-egg skies.

Wind rustled the lush grasses and petunia blossoms. Clouds drifted past with the same languid pace that the townspeople did on days as hot as such. Everything moved at a slower pace this side of the river. Like molasses, sweet and syrupy.

Clementine herself was small, but affluent.

A collection of white-walled buildings, shaded by cypress trees and ghost-like, hanging moss. Manors lined the shire outskirts, gated in delicate wrought-iron, sprawling across the lush plateau. The town, usually vibrant on a Sunday morning, was void of life this particular day. Not even the church bells chimed.

A cup of coffee sat cooling on the steps of the Moreau house. The door of the dentist’s home creaked like the branches of the old and aching hickory trees.

Clementine was empty. The floorboards of each store and polished, paint-pale home were warm with footsteps, but completely abandoned. Like a ghost town of flickering, lace curtains and unoccupied pews.

None of Clementine’s 300 residents were in the chapel. God could wait. They were all over the hill, watching the Phantomhive mansion burn to the ground.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

White walls bubbled and popped. 

Soot drifted down and settled on the temperate earth like acrid snow. The tall pillars of the largest Antebellum mansion in the county blackened under the lick of the fire’s tongue.

The townspeople gathered at the foot of the decaying homestead. The men cooled their faces with their hats, and the women with their _Duvelleroy_ fans. Some stood barefooted, too excited by the burning building to care for menial accessories like shoes. Half-pinned hair and unlaced Sunday finery flickered in the breeze as they gazed up in horror.

It wasn't everyday that the richest man in town was murdered.

Clementine’s resident undertaker rolled his sleeves above his elbows. It was hot outside, even without the burning manor. He flicked his eyes up towards the billowing smoke, rising thick into the bitter heavens.

For months the ash of Vincent Phantomhive and his gorgeous estate would dust down across the townscape, like powdered sugar on beignets. The sentiment was morbidly charming, and only disturbed by the sharp and sticky way the chief of police clicked his teeth.

“I ain’t never seen something this bad before,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s not every day we have ourselves a good old-fashioned murder.”

The undertaker broke his gaze from the smouldering skeleton of the manor to glare at the side of the law enforcer’s cheek. The man’s skin was ruddy from the heat. There was nothing striking about him, and Adrian found his lip curling as the shorter man rubbed the back of his sweaty, pink neck.

“You found bodies?” Said the undertaker.

His shoulder rose into a tense line as the other nodded, hands turning up to gesture towards the crumbling remains.

“Looked like Vincent and his wife in the master bedroom,” he clicked his teeth again. “Hard to say, with the way the fire kicked up and all.”

The undertaker made a sound in the back of his throat and hung his head. His heart crumbled like the charred wood inside the mansion.

“And the pups?”

The chief grit his jaw and his beady eyes turned away from Adrian. They followed the carnage to the crowd, waiting impatiently for answers to fuel their idle gossip.

“I don’t know,” the short man said at last.

He shrugged, wiping his palms on his bark-coloured waistcoat. Once again his tongue smacked against the back of his teeth and Adrian curled his hand into a fist. He was beginning to sweat too, on the nape of his neck, beneath the thick bundle of alabaster hair he kept tied into a knot.

“What do you mean you _don’t know_ where they are?”

The smell of the burning manor was starting to irritate him, and he rubbed his nose into the crook of his elbow.

“They weren’t there when my men searched the house,” he said, eyes turned down and sheepish.

Adrian sighed and crossed his arms over his chest.

“How do you manage to lose two teenage boys?”

A thick, ashy chunk of timber fell from the mansion’s roof and landed with a black powder cloud that caused a shriek amongst the women. The undertaker swallowed the anxiety lodged hard in his throat and closed his eyes to the sight of it. He could still hear the paint boil and the susurrus of bare toes in the tepid grass.

When he opened his eyes again he scanned the estate. The long row of oak trees that lead up to the burning manor. The stables. The faint whiney of the spooked horses. The trees either side of the manor were scorched and trembling. Behind wilting rose bushes and scorched stone steps sat the wooden double-doors to the basement. Even from this distance, the undertaker could see that they were locked.

“Did you look down there?”

The chief followed his stare to the rusty, primitive lock, and from the way he audibly swallowed, the other knew he had not. A sad sense of apprehension settled in the undertaker’s gut.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Everyone knew of the Phantomhive twins.

Sons of the richest man in town. Their mother was the loveliest little thing Clementine had ever seen, until those boys had come along. Slender and doe-eyed like Rachel, but tall and handsome like their daddy.

The twins were completely identical although some swore the eldest looked more like Vincent, and the youngest looked like his mother. He was a fraction thinner, due to reoccurring illness as a child, and while his brother wore his short, the youngest twin’s gossamer grey hair hung down to the back of his elbows.

Everyone knew how close the twins were. You wouldn’t catch one without the other. They communicated without words. With the raise of one eyebrow. They stood closer than husband and wife. If you spoke ill of one twin, you spoke ill of both, and the eldest was deeply protective of his little brother.

Even in death, it was obvious how close they were.

Adrian drew in a sharp breath when he saw them. The air was acrid with lingering smoke, sweltering with the rising sun. It made the smell all the worse, in the dim and tepid basement. The teenage boys were tucked up against one other, dead in each other’s arms, surrounded by their spilt and sticky blood.

“God dammit,” the undertaker cried.

His voice echoed off the stone walls as the chief pottered in behind him. He swore too, raising his handkerchief to cover his nose.

"It stinks to high heaven in here," the other man drawled.

The scene seemed to spook the insipid law enforcer, who chose to observe the scene from the furtherest point of the entwined bodies. Adrian treaded closer. It was his job. His heart hurt all the same.

“What a shame,” the undertaker mourned, crouching down on his haunches to stare at the body laying face down on the other’s chest.

“They were only seventeen,” he noted to the spineless police chief, still pressed to the wall.

Adrian carefully fit his arm around the boy that lay on top. From his long, blood-black hair he could tell it was the younger brother, Ciel. His body made a wet smack against the floor as the undertaker rolled him over and took in the scene between them.

He swore again, voice muffled behind his hand.

The older twin was drained of all his blood. His mouth was half-open, pale lipped and hardly marred on his handsome face, lest for the clean bullet hole between his closed, thick-lashed eyes. The worst of it were the intestines. They spilled out from a gash cut hip-to-hip on the eldest boy, completely eviscerated. 

His linen sleep pants were unfastened and tugged down his hips in a fashion that made the undertaker’s skin crawl. His naked thighs were bloody. Fingernails caked in blood. His innards stuck to his brother’s skin like Sycamore sap, trailing out of his stomach and into the slick space between the two. Even Adrian, who had seen a thousand corpses, felt bile rise to the back of his mouth.

The cause of death for the younger twin was not as clear. His face was covered completely in blood, with no visible wound. His body was in tact and he was dressed in a shirt and trousers, not pyjamas like his slain twin. All of his clothes were thankfully in tact, spare for his bare feet. With a shaking hand the undertaker reached down and began to clear the thick, coagulated blood off the young man's face.

“Who would do a thing like this?” The undertaker uttered to the man behind him.

The chief treaded closer, finally looking down at the teenage corpses, whistling shrilling through his teeth.

“Shit,” he said inelegantly.

“They were pretty little things. Would have been heartbreakers, the pair of them,” Adrian said.

 _Like their father,_ he added privately.

The chief made a noncommittal grunt. He didn't squat like his counterpart but he nudged the side of Ciel's pellucid hand with his boot.

“That's the baby, right? The one that looks like a girl?” The chief asked.

He sucked spit up the back of his mouth and then spat onto the ground beside the bodies with a wet _splat_. The smell of the boys was permeating. It would stay in their hair and their clothes for days to come. 

“Everyone said he was a cocksucker,” he added, coming closer.

Adrian gave him a glare that could peel paint from the walls. His legs were starting to ache from where he squatted. He traced the pronounced line of the dead boy's lip with a trace of melancholy, dragging his thumb down to part his mouth. Maybe he'd been shot too, somewhere behind all that blood. The undertaker's hand slowed as he noticed how warm the inside of the teenager's mouth still felt.

And then suddenly the kid coughed.

The chief screamed. Adrian fell back on his hands. The two went scrambling backwards and onto their asses as the body flinched and coughed again. The sound was raw and sticky, like the boy's throat was melting from inside as he struggled to draw in a breath. The undertaker watched red spittle land on the kid's cheek and saw him cough again, so hard his entire chest shuddered.

“I've heard about this,” the chief called out, pressed into the opposite wall as his voice shook. “That's what they call the death rattle, ain't it?” He wet his dry mouth and pointed at the wheezing body. “Air escaping the body?”

Adrian barely concealed his annoyed glare, focusing instead on the thin and eerie body that continued to draw in shallow, unstable breaths. His eyes stayed shut. The man could not even see the line of his eyelashes with how thick the blood on his face was.

“That's no death rattle, fool.” 

The undertaker crawled forward and helped wipe off the blood that caked the inside of Ciel's nose. Then air was coming through his nostrils and his mouth, like a man breaking the surface of the water, drawing in air like he'd been suffocating in his own blood for hours. The undertaker shook his head, tonguing his cheek like he couldn't believe what he was seeing right before his very eyes. 

Clementine’s very own revenant. 

With his breath bated he cupped the back of the boy’s head and felt the pulse under his petal-thin skin, fragile and lovely, and very much there. He might have smiled if he weren’t so terrified, so the undertaker called out to the petrified chief without looking at him.

“This little one ain't dead.”

……………………………………………………………………………


	2. Aurora Pass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's some racial and gay slurs in this chapter, steer clear if you're not down with that.

**PART ONE**

 

The Phantomhive twins liked blondes.

Just like their daddy did. The sixteen-year-olds were drawn to buttery locks, and freckles smattered across upturned noses. Their weakness for fair hair was only one of the many things they had in common, but there was still a discernible difference between the young men.

His brother liked girls. And Ciel liked boys.

The eldest twin kissed the doctor’s daughter in high summer. She’d been sending him longing glances for weeks, her blonde hair brushing her shoulders as she sent him coy looks in church. All it took was a little wave of her laced-covered fingers and his brother was hooked. He walked her home that evening, and when he’d returned for dinner, cheeks dusted pink, he’d leaned in close to whisper in Ciel’s ear.

“She kissed me.”

And almost a month later, Ciel had his first kiss too.

The saying _sweating like a sinner in church_ spoke volumes to the youngest twin that day, because it was sweltering outside - and the looks Alois Trancy were giving him were anything other than saintly.

The dentist’s son was very pretty. Hair like hay, slender legs and a cruel smile. Every time his dimples deepened and he shot a devilish grin towards the younger boy, it spoke directly to something beneath Ciel’s naval. Like a fish on a hook, and he felt sick every time the blonde looked at him. He craved that illness every Sunday.

They always sat together in church, had since they were kids. The Trancy family on one side of the pew, the Phantomhives on the other. Ciel and Alois so close they could smell each other’s cologne. So near that it wasn’t an effort for their thighs to touch, or for Ciel’s pinkie finger to extend and brush the side of the older boy’s hand. Alois didn’t look away from the priest, but his mean mouth turned up, and his fingers collected Ciel’s into his palm.

“What do you want, Phantomhive?”

His voice was hidden under the drone of the priest, lips brushing the sixteen-year-old’s ear as he leaned in to whisper. Ciel swallowed and looked up through his lashes at the blonde.

“Meet me by the river after church,” he breathed back, his mouth toying with a smirk.

Alois squeezed his hand, fingers withdrawing to rake a path up the side of Ciel’s hand. The younger blushed, mouth opening and eyes closing, and heart threatening to burst free of his chest.

“You’re a freak,” Alois mouthed, grazing the pads of his fingers against the inside of Ciel’s wrist.

Ciel swallowed past the tightness in his throat as he let Alois caress his palm.

“So are you,” he muttered to him, looking up at the blonde, eyes a few shades lighter than his own.

It made the eighteen-year-old huff, mouth curling into another sinful smile. Then he glanced up, to something beyond Ciel, and the boy felt someone nudge his shoulder, and his brother clear his throat. The elder twin raised his eyebrow, sending a look at both the blonde, and the boy holding his hand.

“Sorry,” Ciel said silently, avoiding his brother’s chastising stare.

There was no real heat behind it, but Ciel felt sheepish all the same and withdrew his finger’s from the other boy’s. He didn’t lay a hand on him again. Not until church was over, and as the families palavered over the sticky heat Ciel sought out the crop of pale hair in the crowd. His brother got to him first, grabbing his arm to squeeze gently, and pull him out of ear range from the others.

“Be careful,” his brother warned. “I’m serious. Don’t let anyone see you.”

He didn’t blink until Ciel nodded, and then he seemed to breathe again. His little brother bumped their hands together, gave him a small smile as he brushed past, eyes already locked on the dentist’s son.

“I won't."

Then he and Alois slipped off to the river where they could hide behind the long grass and the wildflowers.

His first kiss was quick, and wet.

Their teeth clicked together. Ciel didn’t know where to put his hands. Alois pressed him to the bark of a hickory tree, fingers carding into his long, soft hair. They both sighed, Ciel tilting his head so their mouths could press together, clumsy and damp, and warm, and perfect. He whined against his mouth as they fell, pressed down into the grass where the smacks of their kisses were smothered by the Mississippi river.

“I’m not a faggot,” Alois panted, cheeks pink.

He crawled between Ciel’s legs as he said it, hitching them apart so they could be closer. Alois tilted his head, their lips parting so their tongues could touch, tentative and slick.

“You s-sure kiss like one,” Ciel stammered.

He was hard just from kissing, just from being pressed against the earth and having his hair tugged. Alois smacked him, rough enough that the youngest Phantomhive yelped, cupping his cheek. He opened and closed his mouth dumbly, stunned into stupor before grabbing the front of the blonde’s shirt, hauling him off him and rolling him onto his back.

“Don’t hit me,” he hissed, scrambling to sit on his chest, shoving his wrists down against the grass.

Alois grunted, pretty hair falling out of place as he bucked his hips, trying to dislodge the smaller boy atop him.

“You’re _sick_ , Phantomhive.”

He surged up, knocking Ciel back into the grass. Grey hair splayed across his cheek, grass stains on his elbows as he squirmed under the blonde. His skin flushed as he felt the insistent press of Alois's hips against his backside.

“You’re sicker."

Ciel's breath hitched as his chest met the ground. Alois was unsteady, animal-like, and Ciel’s eyes fluttered closed as the dentist’s son found his throat and bit into it like a ripe peach, sucking the flesh between his teeth.

“I hate you,” Alois said, grabbing Ciel’s jaw to kiss his mouth again.

It was all tongue and teeth, and primal noises as the blonde kept him pinned down amongst the flowers, rutting against the back of his thigh. One hand tugged his hair, the other took a greedy fill of him. Fingers untucked his shirt, groped his stomach and squeezed the flesh of his ass, cruel lips smiling up against his own.

“I hate you too, Trancy.”

Ciel mewled between a kiss, breath hitching as alabaster fingers squeezed his throat, and a tongue dipped into the shell of his ear.

And they hated each other for almost an hour, messy kisses in the tall grass, hair disarrayed and hearts racing, until the Phantomhive butler called Ciel’s name across the grasslands, and their mouths broke apart for good. When he came late for lunch, combing his fingers through his untidy hair, his brother was the first he sought out, eyes already wide and excited at the sight of his unkempt twin.

“What happened?”

His brother grabbed his arm to pull him around the corner of the white-walled mansion, voice hushed but keen.

“Did you kiss?”

Ciel nodded, still breathing heavy as his brother grinned triumphant. Then he drew back his hair and showed the visible kisses on his throat to the other, who snickered, and dug his thumb into the largest bruise. Ciel hissed, breaking away with his nose screwed up.

“Not my little brother anymore, I suppose,” said the other, tugging fondly at the ends of his hair.

Ciel rolled his eyes, looping their arms together so he could lead him to the dining room.

“We’re exactly the same age,” Ciel drawled, raising his eyebrow at the other.

 _Give or take a minute_.

His brother conceded with an eyebrow to match, bumping their hips together as they walked.

“You’ll always be a baby to me, Ciel.”

……………………………………………………………………………

 

The whole town knew in hours.

If they weren’t there to see it with their very eyes, they found out in rumours whispered over glasses of sweet tea. The Phantomhive family was dead.

The tragedy read better than any fiction the townspeople had on hand. The richest man in town, railway tycoon Vincent Phantomhive, murdered in the night alongside his gorgeous wife. Even their pet borzoi. Bodies burnt so bad that the only thing left to identify them was the sapphire ring on Vincent’s finger. Their lovely twin boys, whisked away in the night and tortured. The rumours bred quicker than facts, and Clementine became a town of murmuring, secret theories on the beautiful boys, and the demise of their entire dynasty.

Miss Florence, who worked behind the counter at the manchester store, swore it was a murder suicide, orchestrated by Vincent himself. Vernon, from the bank, told each and every customer that travelling bandits had burnt the mansion, and everyone in it, to the ground. Augusta and Georgia, the Howell sisters, swore jealous business associates of the Great Northern railroad had something to do with it instead.

But in fact, no one knew anything.

The chief of police said nothing as Adrian eased the barely-living boy into his arms. He weighed hardly anything, for a teenager, and the heaviest part of him was his hair. Blood dripped off it like paint from a brush. He didn’t struggle as the undertaker cupped him to his chest, supporting his skull with the back of his hand. He only coughed, weak and raw, and pressed his blood-caked face to the beating of the older man’s chest.

“You were close to his daddy, ain’t that right?” The chief asked, making that smacking sound with his teeth.

Adrian’s heart clenched, and he held the boy even closer.

“Yes,” he nodded. His throat was tight. “I was there the day the twins were born. Held them, just like this.”

He glanced over the limp body in his arms and down at the lifeless boy. His body was the same colour as his cotton pyjamas. He looked lonely on the cold cement, without his brother to watch over him, and the sight made it hard for Adrian to breathe.

“Want me to call someone for the dead one?”

The chief couldn’t quite manage the sight of it, of the intestines sprawled out in the pool of blood. Adrian shook his head, readjusting Ciel’s weight in his arms.

“No, I’ll come back for him. Only seems right."

And then he carried Ciel out of the cellar, the unconscious boy rocking softly against his chest as they emerged from the dark. The undertaker rolled the boy’s head closer to his chest, concealing his face from the crowd. Someone cried, hysterical and shocked, but Adrian ducked his head and took Ciel to his cart, focusing on nothing but the frail heartbeat beneath his fingers. He got Ciel to the doctor, and then he went back for the twin.

And despite no one knowing anything, it didn’t stop the whispering. It took an entire day for anyone to know anything for sure. For the doctor to confirm the boy wouldn’t pass away in the night. For the rumours to give way to one little, fascinating fact.

The Phantomhives were dead. But Ciel had survived.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

**November 18th, 1875**

 

The sheets smelt like lavender.

It barely masked the medicinal miasma that clung to the walls of the white-washed bedroom, but Ciel turned his head to press his nose closer to the powdery scent. All he could see of the outside world were the dappled shadows of dancing leaves against the walls, and the silence of the autumn breeze that shook the moss outside.

There were voices outside of his room. The townhouse was lofty, so every sound whispered along the floorboards and found the recumbent teenager. There was a book, resting on the sheets, open and face down. A pitcher of sweet tea sweating on the nightstand. Things that Ciel no longer had an appetite for. He rolled onto his back as the whispering moved in time with the leafy shadows, and stared at the featureless ceiling.

He didn’t have an appetite for much anymore.

One month ago he’d been shot in the face. He knew it had been bad. The bandage on one side of his face had yet to be removed, but he could feel how much it ached. Every time he spoke, or opened his mouth to eat, the wound split and stung, and blood would seep into the fresh bandages.

He knew it had been bad, because when the nurses redressed his face, their horror was thinly veiled. He knew it was bad, because they’d removed the mirror from the bedroom after Ciel had woken in terror, crawled over to it’s ornate frame, and started tugging at the bandages that obscured his cheek and eye.

“It’s okay,” said everyone. The doctor. His elderly butler. “You’re alive.”

Like that was supposed to have soothed Ciel. _You’re alive_. Like that was comforting. Like Ciel wanted to be bed-bound, bandaged and alone, and the sole survivor of his family. Like it was the more _attractive_ alternative to death. Ciel swallowed, hearing footsteps in the hall. He would have rather died.

“Young master?”

There was a gentle rap at the door, to match the gentle tone of the man who spoke. Ciel didn’t answer. Didn’t turn his cheek to watch as his butler entered. He balanced a silver tray, one the boy could see in his peripheral, with something savoury balanced in the middle. It smelt good, but Ciel had no desire to eat.

“I ain't young,” he said faintly.

His mouth tasted stale as he ran his tongue against his teeth.

“I’m eighteen soon,” he added, finally turning his head to look at the butler.

“My apologies, master.”

The weathered man placed the tray by his bedside, collecting the untouched tea and replacing it with something fresh. He had a faint, permanent fondness to his features, and Ciel felt a tug of nostalgia towards the man who had been there as long as he and his twin could remember.

“The chief of police is here to speak to you,” he announced, giving the teenager an almost sympathetic smile.

Ciel sighed, rubbing the palm of his hand into his good eye. Even his skin smelt like medicine.

“Again?”

"Yes, with his assistant. Adrian is here too."

Ciel closed his eye, turning his face back into the pillow to breathe in the scent of lavender. His body ached from laying still. From over four weeks of recovery. But his heart pricked in annoyance. Anger. He twitched his nose and mumbled into the fabric, much to the amusement of the older man.

“Don’t want to see them.”

And then the bed dipped, the older man taking a seat close to the teenager’s body. Ciel tried to curl up on his side, turn his back to the elderly man, but his bandaged face caught on the bedsheets and made his actions awkward. He settled with turning his cheek, pressing his lips together and drawing his knees to his chest.

“Come now, master. They only want to help you.”

His butler touched his shoulder, white glove as clinical as everything else in the room. The boy eased into it anyway, heart aching.

“They don’t want to help,” he mumbled.

He felt his butler exhale, thumb rubbing a little circle into his arm. There were no words to describe how empty the boy felt. He was so numb, not even the gentle touch on his shoulder scraped the surface.

“Don’t you want justice?” The older man asked.

Ciel swallowed, shifting his legs under the sheets.

“Don’t you want to find the men who did this to your family?”

His butler’s voice had an edge to it. He was hurt. The raw edge of it only made the boy feel sick. Everything fell silent for a moment, and the teenager listened to another drop of water roll down the side of the sweet tea. The little _plip_ reminded him of how little appetite he had for food. For water. For reading, or even the desire for sunlight on his skin again.

There wasn’t anything he wanted, but his family.

And he couldn’t have that, so with a thick swallow, he settled for the next best thing.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

The police officer’s assistant was stocky, blonde and ugly.

Ciel’s eyes flicked from his poorly tied bow, to his creased shirt. A line of sweat bled into the collar of his ill-fitted shirt, and he dabbed at beads of perspiration with his cheap handkerchief. The day was not hot in the slightest, but the assistant seemed to be the type of man who would sweat under any situation.

The chief of police had been droning on for twenty minutes, asking Ciel about the night his parents died, and his home burnt to the ground. The undertaker was there too, watching in silence as the police assistant took scratchy notes. The two police sat across from Ciel, unremarkable bodies taking up the delicate expanse of the brocade sofa, but the undertaker waited by the door with his arms folded across his chest.

The very arms that had carried him from that nightmare cellar. Or so the townspeople praised.

The chief’s voice was like cicadas, irritating enough to the teenager that his nose twitched. Every so often he clicked his teeth and Ciel would frown, answering his questions like a phonograph, like he had a dozen times before.

 _Yes, we discovered the bodies_. _No, I am not aware of how they were killed_.

“And after they murdered your parents,” the chief said next, making that sticky sound again, “they took you both to the basement?”

And a lump grew in the young boy’s throat because he knew the reason they had come to ask questions. _Again_. Could see it reflected back to him in his black, beady eyes. They had come to collect gossip.

“Yes sir,” he replied politely.

He tugged at the sleeve of his crisp, white shirt. It was new, made to his exact measurements and not yet lived in. All his old clothes were gone. Nothing had survived the fire. Except of course, himself.

“What happened in the basement, Mister Phantomhive?”

Ciel glanced up, staring at the way the assistant’s pencil hovered over his collection of vague scribbles. His fingers curled into fists. After weeks of laying flat, everything ached in effort to stay upright, and the pain in his body only made the men across from him even more repugnant.

“They separated me from my brother,” Ciel recounted, pressing his tongue to the back of his teeth.

It was easy to say, if he pushed all the thoughts to the back of his head and pretended this hadn't happened to him. The chief nodded, as if he hadn’t heard it all before.

“And what did they do to your brother?” He asked next.

Ciel felt a lump take root in his throat.

“I believe I’ve already told you."

The floor creaked as the undertaker, Adrian, readjusted his stance by the door frame.

“Once more for the record, if you don’t mind,” the chief drawled, eyes dark with interest.

It was a look Ciel had grown increasingly familiar with since the incident. He felt it move over his face, and his bandaged eye. A flame of contempt licked the inside of Ciel’s gut.

“They killed him.”

The room fell so quiet that the susurrus of leaves outside could be heard. Ciel tilted his head, so all his hair dripped forward off his shoulder like Spanish moss. It had now grown long enough that it flirted with the inside of his elbows, smelling faintly clinical with all the medicine pumped through his frail bloodstream.

“What happened before he died, Ciel?”

The sound of his own name made him sick, and when the teenager swallowed he almost choked around the peach pit in his throat.

“They gut him."

He heard Adrian exhale. The assistant cleared his throat. Ciel’s fingers shook as he smoothed his hands over the fabric of his new trousers. He could tell it had not been the answer they’d been expecting, as the chief pretended to look through all his notes. The assistant coughed, and finally spoke for the first time.

“But,” he interjected, voice uglier than his face, “what did they do… _before_ that?”

“Haven't you asked him enough?” Adrian spoke up, voice startling.

Ciel glanced at him, searching his face. He was staring at the boy in the same way his butler did. Like he was heartbroken. Ciel didn't realise how tightly his fist was coiled until his fingernails broke the surface of his palm, and all his tendons flinched in response. He inhaled sharply, closing his eyes as the smell of varnish became overwhelming.

“They raped him,” Ciel forced himself to say.

He was hardly sure if he'd managed to make a noise until the low huffs of the police confirmed it. When he opened his eyelashes they were sticky from tears that refused to peel down his cheeks.

“And it was afterwards, after _that_ , they killed him. Is that correct?”

“No,” Ciel bit. “They made him suffer for hours, with his entrails on the outside.”

His voice finally broke, along with the tears on his cheek, streaking down his jaw like hot blood. He grit his teeth, rubbing his sleeve over the tears on just one side of his face.

“He must have been in so much pain” Adrian said quietly, his voice heard across the room, and Ciel crumbled. He nodded his head, pressing his palm into his eye as he sobbed.

“Insurmountable,” the teenager cried.

The police officers shifted in their seat, exchanging a glance that tore more tears from Ciel’s hateful eye. When the assistant spoke up he was curious, and careful.

“But it wasn’t blood loss that killed him. He died from a bullet to the head,” he said, looking at the chief for confirmation. “Between the eyes, ain’t that right?”

Ciel said nothing, biting down on his tongue.

“And then they shot you too, Mister Phantomhive.”

Ciel looked up, a tear breaking loose of his chin to land wetly in his lap. He showed his teeth, breathing heavy he glared at the two repulsive men.

“When are you going to find the men who did that to him?” He paused, tongue thick in his mouth. “To us.”

“Mister Phantomhive,” the chief rebutted, turning his palm up. “We're trying. We don't have the resources to pursue the offenders as of yet, but-”

“When will you?” Ciel interrupted.

His heart was beating quicker than a hummingbird’s wings. He pressed his palms down flat on the fabric of the chair and struggled to breathe. Everything hurt.

“I'm… I don't know, sir. We're trying,” he said again, and Ciel laughed.

It was joyless, harsh and bitter as his nails scratched the chair, heart hammering. His tears ran quicker with anger.

“Do you know anything?” He seethed, looking up to lock his eyes, no, his _eye_ on the imbecilic chief of police and his ugly assistant.

“Ciel,” Adrian said softly, voice the antithesis of the one Ciel had just used.

He kept glaring at the two men, leaning forward in his chair until his hair moved across his face.

“Get out,” he said to the police, poisonously.

He stood, hands shaking on the arms of the couch. He grit his jaw and tried to hold himself like his father would have.

But he was not his father. He was only seventeen, and he was all alone, and crumbling apart the longer he stood. There were tremors in his slender thighs and fingers, and his body sung in pain with every growing second, turning his face just as bitter as his thoughts.

“Get the hell out,” Ciel hissed again when the men didn’t move.

Their eyes widened as he cursed in that dulcet, Southern accent, refined and perfect from a decade of schooling, and raw with hate.

Then they got up, notes clenched tight in their greedy hands, and they left. The butler showed them to the door, and once alone, the sole heir of the Phantomhive inheritance, the railroad and the ashes, fell to his knees and cried.

He cried so hard he couldn’t breathe. His knees ached where they hit the hard wooden floor, and his hair fell over his face, and shoulders, and arms. His tears fell with _plips_ on the varnish, fingers caught up in the edges of an ornate rug. He choked, shoulders shaking as his eyelashes fluttered, and the floor clouded beyond the water in his eyes.

He drew in a long, rattling breath, and his eye rolled back into his skull. He hit the floor as he fainted, arms crumbled between his chest and the cool, polished floor.

When he came to a moment later there were fingers brushing back his hair, and a shadow masking the glare of the mid-morning sun.

"Deep breaths," Adrian said quietly, smoothing his hair down like he was a child.

Ciel sent him a filthy look, embarrassment burning in his cheeks. He pushed himself to his elbows and scanned the room, but it was only him and the man who'd saved his life.

Flustered, he sent a nervous look towards the undertaker. He offered Ciel a tight-lipped smile, hand still poised like the heir would faint again any second.

"I'm fine," he hissed, wiping at his damp cheek.

The man nodded. When the breeze swept through the parlour Ciel could smell formaldehyde and baby's breath blossoms.

The nostalgic scent made the heir sniffle, his heart like a sinking anchor in his chest. He clutched at the weight, hanging his head to avoid the pitiful gaze of the man who was like an uncle to him.

"Ciel."

Cool, rough fingers combed his hair off his cheek and tilted his face into the light. Ivory eyelashes fell, fluttered, and Adrian's chest swelled with a heavy breath.

"I know what happened down there."

Ciel froze.

Adrian's knuckles grazed his injured jaw and Ciel scrambled backwards, skin prickling. He opened his mouth, heart lodged in the back of his throat.

"I can't imagine what you went through," the undertaker whispered, speaking quick as if to interupt the flood of anxious thoughts drowning the young heir.

“I could never…  _understand_ . I’m just so happy you’re alive.”

Ciel was too stunned to speak. He stared back at the undertaker, mouth half-open, tears still soaking the collar of his new shirt.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” Ciel said suddenly, all in one breath.

Adrian scanned every part of his face. He took note of his trembling fingers, the way his breath came thin.

"I'd _never_ ," he swore.

More tears spilled down the side of Ciel’s cheek, but he was too upset to wipe them. He could only press his lips together into an anguished line as the undertaker shook his head.

“I just… Don’t do anything rash, Ciel.”

He gave him a sorrowful look.

“I couldn’t bare to watch another Phantomhive die.”

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel allowed himself to weep _once_ for his ruined face.

He had never considered himself vain. But, when the nurses removed the bandages from his face, and returned the full length mirror at his request, he cried.

The scar ran from his jaw to his hairline. It divided his cheek, split his eyebrow, and damaged his eye. The milky orb was painful to blink against, and when the tears came Ciel noticed two things. That the injured eye couldn’t cry, and it was blind. His heart broke at the sight of it, and he’d crumbled to his knees, unable to look at the glaring, permanent reminder of _that night_.

He traced the scar with his fingertips. Over and over. Following the line of the bullet, that he swore he could still feel ripping into his skin. Over the weeks of healing the line had turned pink and shiny, and despite it all, wasn’t overly deep or crooked. He was lucky, said the doctor.

For a boy that had been shot in the face.

He made his public debut on his eighteenth birthday. His long hair sat in such a way that the eyepatch and scar were mostly concealed, but he still felt the sun. It was too hot, despite winter having already encroached on the township. It burnt. Or it might have been the scathing eyes of Clementine, staring a hole into Ciel's head as he made his way to church, dressed just as finely as ever.

The Trancy family took up one side of the pew, but the Phantomhive half was suffocatingly empty.

Ciel glanced warily at the varnished bench, and at the seated residents who lowered their eyes when he stared back at them. His heart fluttered like insects in his chest, fingers trembling as he forced his chin higher, moving forwards into the quaint Catholic church, his silver crucifix worn proudly under the black silk of his tie.

He sat at the very end of the pew, and without raising his head, he knew Alois Trancy was looking at him. Organ music filled the small church, shook the windows as the church-goers bowed their heads. The blonde moved then, sliding closer to Ciel, close enough that the only thing between their legs was Ciel’s bible.

“ _Oh my Lord_ , Phantomhive,” Alois muttered over the music, Ciel stared forward at the priest, swallowing.

“I knew you were hurt, but I didn’t know you lost a damn eye,” the blonde breathed.

Ciel readjusted the ring on his thumb, glancing down at his knees. With his blind side closest to the blonde, he was unable to see him reach out, and could only flinch as slender fingers drew back the curtain of his hair to try catch a glimpse at his face. He jerked back, shooting an accusatory look at the dentist’s son.

“Don’t touch me,” he hissed, hoping it sounded strong, and not as pathetic as he felt on the inside.

The mean smile finally flickered onto the blonde’s lips as they made eye contact for the first time.

“What happened to you?” Alois asked, voice low and in awe.

He didn’t touch him again, but his eyes flicked from his chin to hairline, taking in the path of the scar.

“Like you don’t know,” Ciel drawled silently, flicking his eye to the rest of the room.

Like an optical illusion, the staring stopped when Ciel looked directly at them. He felt sick. Alois laughed against the side of his face. His pinkie finger brushed the Phantomhive heir’s.

“I heard they did things to you,” he said lowly.

Ciel’s blood ran cold. Alois bumped his fingers closer, nudging past his hand so he could touch the side of Ciel’s thigh.

“Stop, Alois.”

“I heard they did things to _both_ of you,” Alois added, eyes glancing up to the empty place beside Ciel.

His fingers traced higher, slow and eerie, and the priest blurred as Ciel’s vision turned wet.

“Did they make you do things to each other?”

Ciel turned his cheek and swallowed the bile in his throat. Everything ran hot. The blood in his veins, and the tear that dripped down his face and scalded the back of his hand. Alois exhaled against the overly sensitive scar, splaying his palm so his pinkie finger dipped between the boy’s legs. Ciel could no longer see the holy-man or the crucified Jesus before him because angry tears were rolling down one side of his face.

“Shut up,” Ciel warned.

He could taste acid. He could smell blood. Lips nudged his ear and he could feel the horrible smirk against his earring.

“Did they violate you, Phantomhive?” His heart stopped. “Are you angry because you _liked_ it?”

And then all Ciel could hear was ringing, as he coiled his hand into a fist, and smacked it against the Trancy boy’s nose so hard that it cracked.

“I told you to shut up,” he screamed, pew scraping against the floor as Alois howled, cupping his bleeding nose.

The blonde drew back his hand, staring at the blood like he couldn’t believe it. Then he was on Ciel, screwing his bloody fingers into his clean, white shirt, so rough he could shove him backwards into the aisle.

“You son of a bitch!”

The blonde hit him back, Ciel gasping as he tasted blood in the back of his throat. He scrambled back, back hitting the opposite pews as the patrons gasped, men leaping to their feet, the organ music cutting off almost jarringly. Ciel grit his teeth, tried to kick as the older boy got his hands into his hair, pulled it back and smacked him again.

Then the blonde was yanked back, arms wrapped tight around his chest as he swore, blood dripping down his mouth. Vernon, the banker, held him back like a vicious dog.

Ciel blinked, breathing heavy as his own nose bled. His hair was everywhere, splayed across the cold wood floors, and all of Clementine was on their feet, women with their hands over their mouths.

It was the worst birthday of his life.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

The chief of police loosened the tie around his neck.

Ciel’s eye followed him around the room, hands in his lap. A line of blood moved sluggishly from his nose down to his lip, and he caught it with his tongue before it could drip. Iron bled into the back of his mouth and he swallowed, feeling surprisingly calm after the fight.

“I’m going to pardon you this time, Mister Phantomhive. Because of all you’ve been through, and because of who your father is.”

“ _Was_ ,” Ciel corrected.

The chief gave him a strained look, turning to look out the window.

“Behaviour like that can’t be tolerated,” he repeated back, with a smack of his teeth. “No matter how rich your daddy _was_.”

Ciel’s nose twitched.

“When are you going to find the men who killed him?”

And the chief’s shoulders dropped as Ciel stared at the back of his head. Dappled light moved over his suit, the sound of children playing muffled through the thick walls of the old building. Distantly, a piano played.

“We’re trying,” the chief told him for the umpteenth time, only now he sounded genuine.

Ciel might have felt sorry for him, if not for the hate seated deep in his stomach. The adrenalin ebbed away to despair, and his own shoulders fell with his mood.

“I’ll pay you anything,” the little heir said, voice breaking.

He hated how desperate he sounded. How desperate he _felt_. The chief finally turned, glancing down at the seated boy. He sighed, and his fingers went to the back of his leather chair, squeezing it with a creak.

“We don’t have the men, or the time,” he explained. “Hell, we don’t even know where to start looking.”

Ciel opened his mouth but closed it again. He wanted to cry. He wanted to run right out the door and drown himself in the Mississippi.

“There’s nothing you can do,” he said, not a question.

But the chief nodded anyway, fingers still clenched in the expensive, brown leather.

“You’d be better off hiring a bounty hunter,” the older man said, jokingly but without a smile. Ciel sat up straighter in his chair, and the man realised his mistake.

“Like an assassin?”

“Look kid, I didn’t mean that,” he said gruffly, waving his hand in the space between them. “Leave it to the court. Besides, you ain’t going to find a bounty hunter in these parts.”

Ciel wasn’t perturbed. “Where can I find one?”

The chief looked him over. From his bloody nose, to his long hair, to his eyepatch. Like the sum of all his mistakes was sitting right there in his office, a reckoning. An embodiment of guilt. He swallowed thickly, but Ciel didn’t blink.

“You’ll find plenty of them in Aurora Pass,” he conceded. “But that’s all the way in Utah.”

Ciel widened his eye, that tickling feeling in his gut erupting into something excited. Hope, or some distorted form of it. His lips quirked up into a smile that disturbed the chief of police, eyes lowering to the floor like a bad dog.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

**January 28th, 1876**

 

Ciel had never left Clementine.

Despite his father pioneering one of the major railway lines in the country, he had never been on a train, and he had never left Louisiana. The newest train, the Great Northern, would take him right across to Utah, before the line switched and headed up to the mountains. The heir left alone, nothing but a suitcase, and the restless desire for revenge coiled tight in his stomach.

The train whistled shrill across the bayous, steam rolling up above like the clouds. Ciel pressed his head to the glass of the window, watching as the landscape of water and bald cypress gave way to prairies, and scrubby mountains, and night skies so still it hurt his heart to look at. Eventually there was no more green. It all gave way to red dirt, and rising pillars of rock jutting up against the brilliant blue of the skyline.

On the night of his eighteenth birthday, Adrian had given him a gun. He'd wrapped it in a silk handkerchief, polished and loaded, and remarkably familiar. As he turned the weapon in his naive fingers, he realised it was the gun that murdered his brother. And the gun that had taken his right eye. Now it sat snug in a harness against his ribs, hidden under his tailored black suit, as the Great Northern pulled into it’s west-most station, Aurora Pass.

It was a dusty nothing of a town.

Ciel’s black, polished boots collected dirt the moment he stepped off the train. The platform creaked under his heels, groaning with the weight of the passengers. Steam billowed out the stationary train and Ciel glanced back at it, knowing that it would not return this way for several more weeks. He wasn’t going home. He didn’t have a home to return to, he reminded himself.

The first thing he noticed was the commotion. There was constant action, traffic of humans, and horses, and carts, creating a permanent haze of orange dust amongst the town.

And the second was the cold. Ciel tugged his coat tighter around his slim body, teeth grit as the wind picked up a frisky breeze. The townsfolk passed in light shawls and jackets, but Ciel, who had lived his entire life in Louisiana, was victim to the sudden temperature difference. The cool air nipped at his neck, exposed from where he'd pulled his hair into a neat ponytail with a strip of ribbon to match the one around his throat.

No one looked at him as he walked into the thick of it. They were too busy, moving one way or the other. Even the men who reclined on worn seats out the front of establishments simply looked past him, his appearance unremarkable in a place that saw new faces daily. It helped him walk taller, readjusting his hand on the light suitcase he carried, and find the tavern the chief of police had told him about.

The bodega was like the rest of the buildings around it. The walls were dull and splintered, like the unrelenting sun had sucked all the life from it. Inside it was dim, and even before Ciel walked through the swinging doors, he could smell the miasma of smoke, and stale liquor coming up from the crooked floorboards.

A pianola clanged away in the corner, ignored by the men who drank, or sat in circles playing cards at the very back of the establishment. The windows were dusty and clouded. The floors creaked with stirruped boots and heavy heels. There were women, but not like any Ciel had seen before. Their cheeks were caked in rouge, mouths dark and upturned, and they wore hardly a thing. Ciel blushed as he averted his eye from them, pushing forward to the bar.

“Don’t even try,” the bartender grit before he even reached him.

He was polishing grimy glasses, glancing up quickly to give the boy a once over. He was unshaven, eyes tired as he picked up a new glass, shoulders moving with the perfunctory task.

“I’m not after a drink,” Ciel said politely, putting his suitcase on the floor between his shoes and the edge of the bar. “I’m looking for a bounty hunter.”

The bartender paused, giving the boy an amused look. Two of the scarcely dressed women further up the bar snickered into the back of their palms, looking away from the teenager.

“You ain’t from here, are you?”

The bartender smiled, but it wasn’t overly kind. Ciel swallowed, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear.

“What gave it away?”

The women laughed again. The bartender glanced at them, mouth curling up, and he sat his polishing rag down onto the counter.

“That funny accent of yours."

The women snorted, the bartender smiled wider, and Ciel’s mouth opened slightly, cheeks dusted pink. Considering the way the bartender spoke, with a rough, untamed voice, he found it mortifyingly hypocritical.

“Where you from?”

“Louisiana."

“You’re a long way from home, boy."

Ciel turned his cheek, putting his hands against the wood of the bar.

“As I said, I’m looking for a bounty hunter. Can you help me or not?”

The bartender smiled like everything the boy said was amusing, raising an eyebrow at the teenager’s pointed question.

“Alright, well. What kind of man do you need?”

"The worst kind you've got."

And for the first time the bartender didn’t grin at his words. His eyes flashed, hands pausing on the task in his hands.

“Worst kind, huh."

Then came an ear-splitting _crack_.

Ciel whipped around to see two men burst through an upstairs door, slamming so rough into the balustrade it broke. Wood splintered and flaked down amongst the patrons, all of which had stopped to stare at the quarreling figures.

One man was dressed entirely in black, including his gloves. He curled one into a fist and punched the other man in the face, who then stumbled back and tumbled down the staircase. His boots thudded on the stairs, skipping one and skidding down onto his ass as the man in black followed, gun cocked and aimed at the back of the other’s head.

“Get back here Wyatt,” growled the man in black.

The fleeing man snarred a chunk of broken staircase and flung it at the approaching man. It bounced off his chest, only succeeding in making the much taller man angrier.

"Leave m-me alone you half-breed sunova bitch!"

The man in black was on him in a second, using his free hand to grab the collar of his shirt and shove him into the salloon wall. It shook loose a picture frame, landing on the floor with a crack.

The saloon fell quiet enough that the click of the man in black's gun echoed throughout the carnage. He pressed the barrel under his prey's chin. He began to babble, not making much sense to those who listened.

"Wyatt Wilson," the man in black said loudly, his voice low and rough and raw. "Child killer," he added just as cooly.

He released the man's collar and watched him slide to the floor. He followed him down with his gun, and from what Ciel could see beneath the shadow of his hat - the man wore no expression but rage.

"Any last words?" He growled, putting his boot down on the man to keep him pinned. "Or you gon' cry some more?"

The man squirmed like a bug, nothing but unintelligent sobs escaping his lips. The man in black turned his head to the side, his neck cracking.

Then he pulled his trigger and shot the insect right between his eyes.

The pinned man’s head spilt apart, blood splattering across the floor and against the end of the teenager’s shoes. He was so stunned he could only stare, heart pounding as the man wiped his sleeve across his face, smearing blood and grit. He spat by the body, chest rising and falling.

When he looked up every face in the bodega turned away. A low murmur returned as the patrons returned to playing cards, acting as if a smoking body didn't lay crumbled against the wall.

"That's Michaelis," the bartender finally explained, causing Ciel to flinch. "The cruelest bounty hunter in Utah."

"Lord," Ciel murmured, watching as Michaelis sheathed his gun. "I thought the bounty was halved if they came in dead."

The bartender hummed.

"M-hm. And he ain't never kept a bounty alive. Folks say he's been killing since he was sixteen."

Ciel's breath caught in his chest as Michaelis approached the bar, blood still smeared across his chin. He ignored the heir completely, setting both elbows on the surface as the bartender fetched him a drink.

Up close Ciel marvelled at the height of him. The band of skin between his shirt and glove was the colour of weak coffee. The heir cleared his throat, drawing himself to his full stature.

“Mister Michaelis,” he said.

The man threw back his drink, slamming the glass down hard against the countertop before acknowledging Ciel. He gave him a once over, jaw locked as he lingered on his face.

“I didn’t ask for a whore,” he grit.

Ciel’s eye widened and he lost any gumption he had left.

“I’m… I ain't no  _whore."_

Michaelis gave him another look, contemptuous and slow. His eyes were the colour of the blood drying on his face.

“Ahuh,” the hunter said finally, lip curled.

Ciel coiled his fist, glancing at the bartender, who now had his head down like neither of them existed.

“I want to contract you for a bounty."

“I’m not interested,” said the bounty hunter.

His voice was low and sticky, and there was a certain foreign lilt to it. Ciel crossed his arms over his chest.

“That’s what you do, ain’t it?”

The man sneered, looking down into his glass. “It is. But I don’t take work from kids.”

“I’m not a kid,” Ciel replied, shoulders tense. “I’m eighteen.”

But the man only snorted, pouring himself another drink. If the weight of killing another man bothered him to any extent, it was not visible on any part of him.

“I’m offering you all of my money. The entire fortune,” he added, and his voice broke.

Feeling his facade begin to crumble, Ciel also blurted, “It’s everything I have.”

“I’m still not interested,” Michaelis grit. “Now take your skinny ass out of here before a man with looser morals mistakes you for a whore, too.”

The bartender snickered at that, and anyone else that had been listening, and Ciel was finally aware of all the eyes that touched his skin as he stood there, mouth parted, utterly ignored by the cruelest bounty hunter in all of Aurora Pass.

So he ducked down, picking up his suitcase as his cheeks burnt, feeling every part a child, and humiliated. He didn’t know what to do with the sick feeling in his gut, other than to turn on his heel and leave as quickly as he had entered, heart in his throat. He felt the eyes of every man on his back as he left.

Every man, except one.

If he’d stuck around he might have heard the way the bartender huffed, leaning forward on his arms right near the blood-stained, narrow-eyed killer.

“You damned fool. That was the brat of Vincent Phantomhive,” he jeered, looking in the direction the boy had left. “You just turned your nose up at _thousands_ , Michaelis.”

The killer grit his teeth, unsheathing his gun to cock it at the bartender. He raised his hands, swallowing visibly, as the bounty hunter stare down the length of it.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Michaelis warned.

And the bartender did just that.

……………………………………………………………………………

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please SMASH that kudos button! Becky lemme smash. Smash that kudos!!  
> And follow me on Tumblr: bun-o-ween, ask me all kinds of shit.


	3. Rabbit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey my dudes, I've changed some things in the previous two chapters. Nothing major, but the main thing I changed was that Ciel has already turned eighteen (on the day of the chapel fight), and it's later in the year. It's January by the time he arrives in Aurora Pass.

“Hold your hair back for me, sunshine.”

His mother’s voice slurred around the pins she kept between her lips. She didn’t look up, blonde eyelashes lowered as she waited for Ciel to draw the curtain of his hair to one side. It dripped over his shoulders, his mother thanking him as she pinned the silk behind his back into place.

She had always made women’s clothes. And not just any clothes, but _beautiful_ , and _feminine_ , and _alluring_ clothes. She didn’t have to. The Phantomhives had so much money Vincent could have bought her a factory and an entire army of seamstresses to fashion her anything she desired. No, she did it to bide the time.

And privately, she got a thrill out of making provocative clothing for the women of Clementine.

Ciel had always been fascinated with the things she could make from fabric. Since he was small he had always loved playing with silk, and lace, and cotton, and unrolling it from spools so he could bunch it between his fingers and slip it over his skin. Pearls, beads, buttons. Anything that _clacked_ , he would run his hand through the wicker basket of bits and pieces, his mother sewing as he sat at her feet. As he was often ill, Ciel spent days of his childhood helping his mother pin, and stitch, and drape pretty things. And as he got taller, he eventually helped her in this way too. By letting her pin the clothes to his body instead of the wooden mannequin.

“Suck in your side,” she instructed, tugging again at the back of the silk pyjamas.

They were a shade lighter than his own skin, far skimpier than the kind most women would wear. The shorts cut off across his upper thighs, the top was sleeveless, and his shoulders and collarbone were exposed. If he breathed in, he could watch his belly appear between the hem of the shorts and the shirt. He suckered his side, keeping still, but the pin caught his skin, a hiss escaping his teeth.

“Damn it,” he groaned, fingers instantly going to prod at the pin-prick.

There was a snicker, from the daybed by the window, and the fifteen-year-old narrowed his eyes as he turned to stare at his brother.

“That language isn’t very lady-like,” the older twin chastised, not raising his head from the book he read.

He shook his head slowly, like their daddy did. Ciel’s cheeks burnt and he turned, his mother sighing in annoyance as her handiwork was tugged out of her fingers.

“I ain’t no lady,” Ciel drawled.

He folded his arms over his chest as his brother smirked, sending a pointed look towards the outfit he was wearing. The full-length mirror in front of him showed it all in truth. His slender legs, and the tender curve of his hip as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. And his hair did no favours either, long enough at that time to brush the top of his shoulders.

“Keep still,” Rachel warned.

She gave the back of the top a rough tug to turn her boy back to the mirror. Her eldest son laughed, turning the page of his book. She looked past her son’s shoulder, following his eyes as they took in his reflection. Her shoulders fell, and she removed the pins from her mouth as she straightened her back.

“Does it bother you?” She asked, putting a hand on his arm. “Dressing up for me like this?”

Ciel’s eyes fluttered up, catching his mother’s in the reflection. They were the same colour, and their connection made the tension in his shoulders ebb away.

“No mother,” he promised, his own hand touching hers where it lay on his soft skin.

She sent him a smile, and he tucked back his hair with his free hand. “You know I don’t mind.”

And he didn’t. He never had.

Ciel loved the things his mother made. They weren’t as stiff as the vest or shirt he wore, or tight against his throat like his tie. They were soft, and pretty, and even as he blushed at his own reflection, he felt more powerful than ever in the two-piece, silky set.

“How come you never make _him_ dress up?” He said to his own reflection, no real malice in his voice.

His mother laughed close to the nape of his neck.

“Well, that’s simple. He isn’t as lovely as you are,” she explained, then kissed the back of his head.

Ciel turned slyly to give his brother a look, pouting his lips as if to say _aww, too bad_. His twin rolled his eyes, unable to hide a cheeky smile. He pretended to flick back his hair, although his was only cropped to his ears.

“Regarde moi,” he drawled, voice high and airy. “Je suis _si_ jolie.”

Ciel snorted at his poor impression and his brother laughed too. In the reflection, he saw Rachel smile with them, and she shook her head in exasperation.

“Bless your hearts,” she said. “I love you both, but you ain't nothing but devils.”

She took the last pin from her mouth and fastened it in place, straightening up to check out the detailing on the pyjamas. Ciel admired his reflection, letting his eyes flick down to his slender legs and bare ankles. His heart beat quick and happy in his chest.

“Okay, you can wriggle out of them now,” Rachel said.

She stepped back so her son could slip from the set without pricking himself. But Ciel looked a little longer instead, transfixed by his delicate appearance, in so deep he didn’t catch the funny look his mother gave him as she watched her son obsess.

“ _Sunshine_ ,” she said quietly. Ciel glanced up. “Do you want to keep them?”

There was something guarded in the way she spoke, and Ciel felt himself light up with shame. He turned to look his mother in the eye, shaking his head so quick his hair shifted.

“No,” he lied. “Of course not. They’re for women,” he tapered out into a whisper.

The mother and her son continued to stare at each other, until Ciel cleared his throat and undressed.

But that night, as he slipped into the bed he shared with his twin, his fingers came into contact with familiar fabric, folded neat beneath his pillow. He paused, heart skipping a beat as he tugged free the finished pyjamas from their hiding place, rubbing the silk between his fingers. His breath must have hitched because his brother huffed, still reading the same book.

“You were eyeing them off keener than I ever saw you,” he begun, face serious but voice kind.

Ciel always admired how focused and well-presented his older brother was, especially now.

“Be thankful, you know how long they took her to make.”

And Ciel pressed his face into the soft pyjamas, cheeks pink, heart flighty, and caught the trace of his mother’s perfume against the stitching. Each one put in place on purpose, carefully crafted the same way she’d made the two boys.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel woke with the cry for his mother still damp on his mouth.

He sat up in the hard, unfamiliar bed, blinking as pale light filtered in through the windows. It was early, and already he could hear that commotion again. The clop of horses hooves, and the creak of wagons. The eternal dustiness of Aurora Pass seemed to seep right up through the floorboards and into the small room Ciel occupied. His throat tickled and he cleared it, reaching for his eyepatch before forcing himself out of bed.

The water had a funny taste to it as he washed his face, taking caution to only dab lightly at his injured side. While fully healed, it had a phantom pain to it, and Ciel was reluctant to touch it more than necessary. He dressed himself, and combed his hair so it sat straight on either side of his face, covering the pink and almost perfectly straight scar.

The morning was crisp, and cool. It was a contrast to the orange dust and endless flat the Great Northern had travelled through. Ciel looked back in the direction of the train station as he exited the hotel, and when he turned in the other direction he could see mountains in the horizon. If he squinted, he could make out snow.

He followed the shaded balcony from the hotel all the way along the street, out of the way of horses and wagons. None spared him much a glance, and he was able to slip past women’s thick, bundled skirts as he stayed close to the buildings. He noticed that, despite the frigidity of the morning, post of the men and women were dressed modestly and without coats. Ciel however, had goosebumps. He paused as a shop sign caught his eye, glancing across the busy road at a manchester and goods store. He made a note to stop there on his way back, but before he could leave, something else caught his eye.

There, in the display window, were a pair of jade, silk pyjamas.

A matching kimono-style gown draped off the mannequins figure, hiding the shape of it’s artificial arms and legs. It was tied tight in the middle, that hourglass figure women suffered for, but Ciel could still see the short leg of the pyjama bottoms beneath the robe. They were almost identical to the ones his mother had made.

The ones that had burned up in the fire.

Ciel let himself look for a moment longer, his heart caught up in his throat, and then he tore himself away.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

He found a little café not far from his hotel.

The description was generous. It was a sardine can of tables and mismatched chairs, spruced up with glass jars of yarrow blossoms. There was no one there, so Ciel took a table close to the large window that overlooked the busy street outside, the same pianola from yesterday clanging artlessly a few doors down.

He wasn’t alone for long. A plump, middle-aged woman with auburn hair came to his table with a quaint smile on her mouth, and her hand balanced on the fat of her hip. Her hair was coming loose from the bun it was pulled into, and her blouse was covered in spilt coffee, but her face was kind all the same.

“Hello there, sweet pea,” she chirped in that twangy accent Ciel had yet to develop an ear for.

He sat up a bit, cheeks pink at the way she smiled too big for her mouth.

“Good morning ma’am,” he said back, tucking his hair behind his ear.

Her face lit up again, raising one eyebrow as the redheaded waitress shook her head, laughing quick and loud into the empty establishment.

“Ma’am?” She grinned. “I can’t remember the last time someone in this town called me _ma’am_. You must not be from around here.”

Ciel shook his head. “No ma’am, I’m not.” And the woman beamed again.

“Well ain’t you charming. _And_ handsome, look at you!” She sighed, and Ciel’s cheeks burnt doubly.

Her honey-coloured eyes flicked over his face and she shook her head again, that too-large smile permanently pressed into her round cheeks.

“Can I get you some coffee? Looks like you had a rough night.”

Ciel nodded again, and the older woman reached out like she might touch his cheek, but drew back with a funny look on her face. Ciel swallowed, lowering his eyes to the worn and rugged table.

“Where your folks at, sweet pea?”

“They were murdered, and I’m here to hire a bounty hunter.”

He watched as the sweet woman’s face crumpled slightly before him, that same flash of pity evident in her face even as she tried to mask it.

“Oh honey,” she said, voice thick with it. “I’m sorry. But you know you’ve come to the right place. Just take your pick of them, we’re _crawlin’_ with hunters.”

She gestured out the window with her small, chubby hand and Ciel gave her a weak smile.

“Well,” she announced, patting her hands against her apron, “I’ll be right out with your coffee, honey.”

Ciel watched her leave, her bottom switching side to side in her dowdy dress. Something about her tugged at his memory of his mother, despite looking nothing alike. He found it hard to swallow, and turned to the street to watch the world pass by. His face was faintly reflected in the dusty glass, and he traced his upturned nose with the end of his finger.

 _And handsome_ , she had said. Ciel’s heart skipped, then he glanced up and noticed something else through the window.

The man in black, stumbling out of a hotel and into the street.

Ciel went completely still, eye wide as an innocent by-passer bumped into Michaelis’s shoulder. The taller, frightening man grabbed the other’s shirt with his fist, hissing something mean between his teeth before shoving him out of his way.

“What a dog,” Ciel muttered to himself.

And then as if he’d heard, or could somehow read his mind, the bounty hunter stopped in his tracks, looked up, and locked eyes with the young heir in the café window. Ciel’s heart stopped and he looked down immediately, playing dead. His skin crawled as he waited, pulse loud in his ears, but soon enough he heard the fall of heavy footsteps behind him, entering the quaint establishment. His heart sank to his gut.

“I thought I told you not to come back here,” came the voice of the red-headed waitress.

Ciel glanced up to see her staring at something in the door frame, hands on her full hips. The heir glanced down to his clasped hands and heavy footsteps approached his table.

“You gonna buy something?” The waitress pestered.

When Ciel looked up the bounty hunter was standing at his table, staring down at him with a stern expression.

“Coffee,” he said, not bothering to look at the waitress.

“Coffee _what?_ ”

“Coffee _now_ ,” he grit.

The red-head huffed, dusting her hands and waddling back to the kitchen. Ciel swallowed around the lump in his throat as Michaelis pulled out a chair, letting it purposefully squeal across the floor. He sat down, chair creaking with the weight of him, and leaned back into the seat with his arms crossed over his chest. An uncomfortable silence passed between them before he finally spoke, Ciel still frozen in his seat.

“How much is it?” He asked, voice low.

Ciel twitched his nose.

“What?”

“How much is your fortune?”

Ciel sat up higher in his seat, crossing his own arms as he crossed his legs to match.

“I ain’t telling you," he said. "You called me a whore _._ "

He could have sworn the other almost smirked, and Ciel glared sideways at him, flicking his eyes down to notice the scar that ran across the bridge of his nose.

"Don't get your dander up," Michaelis muttered at him. "How much is your fucking fortune? I ain't have all day."

Ciel played with the sapphire ring around his thumb. The waitress came with their coffee, sitting it between them in chipped mugs.

"Thank you ma'am," he said.

She smiled. Michaelis said nothing, still drilling holes into Ciel's head with his rust-coloured eyes.

The coffee tasted like mud but Ciel welcomed the warmth. The liquid settled in his stomach and helped unknot the tension deep inside him, and when he lowered his mug he had something to say.

“$350,000.”

Michaelis glanced up, his own mug halfway to his mouth.

“That’s how much my fortune is,” Ciel said.

The bounty hunter put his mug down so hard it shattered and spilt all over the table. Ciel felt a surge of satisfaction and swallowed it down with the bitter coffee, watching the other’s run off the table and drip down into the man’s lap without so much as a flinch.

“For how many men,” he said, looking kind of stunned.

Ciel opened his mouth then closed it. He watched the coffee leak between the woodslates. He lowered his own cup and blew air from his nose.

"Twelve," he said with confidence. "I ain't know their names but I could recognise their faces."

The hunter looked insulted and enraged all at once.

“You want me to find twelve men and you ain’t know their _names_?”

The scar across the bridge of his nose wrinkled as his lip curled.

“Twelve men,” Ciel confirmed. "I also have suspicion that one of my daddy's colleagues organised the killings - but I didn't recognise any of the men who were there that night."

"That night," Michaelis repeated back to him, still holding the severed handle of his mug.

"Surely you read about it," Ciel said in a quiet voice, looking down at his own coffee.

His cheeks flushed a little. His daddy's railroad extended this far, so the boy assumed the rumours of his death had also travelled west along with him.

But the bounty hunter said nothing.

“They killed my family,” Ciel said. "Tortured my brother for hours, like he was an animal."

The noirette’s eyes flashed. They glimmered with something dangerous and for the first time Ciel felt he had the man's undivided attention.

“You want them dead,” Michaelis said.

Not a question, more of an echo to the boy’s own thoughts. Ciel nodded, and if he were stronger he might’ve crushed the mug he clenched between his hands.

“I want them to _perish._ I want them to burn, like my parents. To bleed like my brother and to suffer like I have. I want you to kill them, every last one of them. I want to kill some myself, if that’s alright with you.”

Michaelis blanched, carmine eyes widening as he seemingly choked on nothing.

"I ain't taking you with me," he forced out.

"Why not?"

The bounty hunter made a sound, flicking his eyes from Ciel's face down to the ends of his hair.

"Look at you," he muttered.

His response bought colour to the boy's cheeks, and he tucked back some of his hair just to ground himself.

"You've misjudged me if you think I'll hand over my fortune and watch you ride away with it. I want to see the job done myself."

"I'm the best man for the job," Michaelis insisted, eyes still wide like Ciel had no idea who he were speaking to.

"That weighs but little with me," Ciel put firmly. "I want to go with you, and if you don't abide I'm sure I could find a dozen other men like you in this town."

The bounty hunter made that funny sound again. A low, gruff noise like he were amused. His face said otherwise. He glanced down at the boy's mouth.

"The hell you speak like that for?”

Ciel flinched at the crudeness of his words. His cheeks burnt and it was his turn to look out the window.

“I’m sick of folks asking about my voice,” he complained. “It’s y’all that’s got an accent.”

The other man tilted his head as if to listen, and Ciel pressed his lips shut, embarrassed of the way he spoke for the first time in his life. He knew it was worse when he was upset, had grown up in a town of people whose drawling, slow accents worsened with the weather.

“I’m from the South,” he said quickly, trying to eat the sounds of his own accent before they could be heard. “I heard that man call you a half-breed. Where are _you_ from?”

“Souther,” said the bounty hunter.

Ciel’s mouth formed an _oh_ as he finally put a name to the faint accent he had heard on the man’s voice. _Mexican_ , then. The noirette raised his eyebrow as if he dared him to say anything further.

“You ever ridden a whole day?”

Ciel shook his head. A crease appeared between the bounty hunter’s eyebrows.

“You know how to feed yourself on the road?”

Ciel’s cheeks burnt. “No.”

“You know how to do anything?”

Michaelis's eyes shined with contempt. Ciel could speak French. Play the violin. Sew. Paint. All things that would make this formidable, hardened man laugh, so he said nothing. The hunter huffed at his silence.

“This is why I don’t work with kids.”

Ciel pressed his tongue to his cheek.

“Fine. I’ll find someone else.”

He stood, chair squeaking as he pushed it back and the man across from him groaned, putting his fist down so hard the mugs, both whole and shattered, shook.

“I didn’t say I _wouldn’t_ work with you,” he hissed, pressing his brow into his palm.

His shoulders rose as he drew in a deep breath, at least double in width as Ciel’s own. Even his father hadn’t been so large.

“Do you have a gun?” The man asked, and Ciel took pride in nodding.

“What about a horse?”

“No, but I’ll get one,” Ciel breathed, feeling elated.

“There’s a stable not far from here,” Michaelis explained.

He stood, and Ciel suddenly felt less confident with the man’s imposing height towering over his.

“Meet me at the bodega, tomorrow at dawn.”

Ciel’s heart skipped. “Is that a deal?’

The man gave him a hard look, glancing at his eyepatch again, and then down to the rings on his hands. He swallowed heavy, casting one last look out to the street like he wanted nothing more than to walk right out into the traffic.

“I suppose it is,” he drawled, and stuck out his gloved hand.

Ciel took it, his own fingers near engulfed in the palm of the other, and they shook hands in the empty café. He felt the other try to pull away, but Ciel tightened his grip for a moment and cleared his throat.

“What’s your name?”

“Sebastian,” he said.

“I’m Ciel,” the heir said, finally dropping his hand. “Ciel Phantomhive.”

Sebastian picked Ciel’s coffee cup up off the table, bringing it to his nose to smell just once, then finishing the rest of it with a thick, unrefined swallow. Ciel opened his mouth, but had no idea what to say.

“I didn’t ask,” Sebastian said, mouth sticky with the stolen coffee.

And then he left, boots heavy on the crooked floor. Ciel followed his back as he left, a blip of black amongst the dust and pedestrians, and then he stared down at his empty cup.

_Sebastian._

The waitress finally approached again, collecting all the pieces of her broken cup like she had done it a thousand times before. She straightened up, shattered porcelain collected in the nest of her apron, and gave Ciel a pointed look.

“He ain’t the one for you, honey.”

Ciel glanced at her, breaking away from the shoulders that had disappeared into the dust moments ago. He frowned, heart still sick with nerves in his chest.

“You said take my pick. He’s my pick."

The woman gave him a look that reminded him too much of his own mother, and he found himself unable to look at her soft, round face.

“He’s too violent,” she said. “This ain’t no job for him. He kills for fun. He’ll kill you if you turn a blind eye to him.”

Ciel almost laughed.

“I’ve made my choice,” he told the lovely waitress.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

The manchester store had everything he needed.

He spent to his heart’s desire. Thicker trousers, and a warmer jacket. Blankets and a change of clothes, enough to tuck into a saddle bag. He bought a knife that was small enough to hide on his person, and one large enough to keep on his horse, and he got a coat too. Black, and plain, but well-tailored and guaranteed to keep him warm in the Utah winter.

He purchased a hat too. Not like the one Sebastian wore, the one most men in town did. The one he chose had a flat top, and a broad black rim. The woman who wrapped each item in paper for him mentioned it was not the most practical choice for months out on the trail, but he took it anyway, unwilling to compromise style any further than he already had.

And then lastly he took the jade pyjamas from the window display, and something else, small and delicate enough to be tucked away in a private, sting-tied parcel. The saleswoman glanced up through her eyelashes as she wrapped them, face giving nothing away, yet the heir felt pressured to lie and tell her they were for his fiancé.

He left the manchester’s with a nervous, guilty heart, and went straight to the stables Sebastian had recommended.

He didn’t know the first thing about buying a horse. He ridden before. Had many horses back home, and knew how to brush one, and feed one. But he’d be damned if he knew what to look for in a good one. He told the man who guided him to the creatures as such, and he gave him a little smile that Ciel figured was mostly genuine.

“You’re gonna know when you see the right one,” the old groom explained.

He led Ciel into a stable that was dark and fragrant with hay. There were half a dozen horses in the dimness, which Ciel soon adjusted too, and he moved down their stalls one by one, casting an eye over them like he actually knew what to look for.

The old man listed off facts about each of the animals, strange accent droning in Ciel’s ear as he nodded, making listening noises between his lips, but with each moment he felt a little more foolish, and all the more a child.

And then, right up the back, he spotted a speckled appaloosa.

The mare had dark, grey hair and a pale coat, with dappled spots across her strong shoulders and back. Her ears and nose were the same grey as her mane, and her eyes were the blackest Ciel had ever seen. As he came closer, the isolated horse made a noise and backed up further into her stall.

“What’s wrong with this one?”

Ciel stopped right in front of her. She was a lot smaller than the rest of the horses, and she stared hard at the teenager as they fancied what to think of one another.

“That’s Rabbit,” the old man said, gesturing to the mare. “Ain’t no one want her. Don’t listen to no-one, and temperamental too. No doubt traumatised from the war.”

Ciel watched the mare flick her ears at the sound of her name, shifting her weight in the narrow stable. She turned her head and Ciel caught sight of a jagged scar running up the edge of her otherwise perfect cheek. He felt a surge of fondness for the horse, and offered his hand tentatively.

“The war?”

Rabbit huffed at his glove, backing up even further like it offended her. Ciel flattened his palm and waited, turning back to the old man.

“South or North?”

“Hard to say,” the old man shrugged.

Ciel bit his lip and looked back into her onyx, unnerving eyes. She didn’t take them off the teenager, content to lull the pair into a staring contest.

“I think she’s Southern,” Ciel said.

Something tugged away at his soul. Something that said he and the mare were kindred spirits. Feeling his cheeks burn a little, he extended his palm a little more and whispered to the mare.

“ _Êtes-vous seul, chéri?_ ”

The mare’s ears flicked forward in interest, and she suddenly stepped closer to snuffle into Ciel’s outstretched palm. The teenager laughed under his breath, turning back to face the astonished groom.

“That’s why she ain’t listen to you,” he smiled. “You don’t speak her language.”

The old man shook his head, a smile of his own forming in the corners of his worn and wrinkled mouth. He shook his head slowly and wiped his palm across his brow.

“You’re the first person I ever saw touch her,” he explained.

Ciel trailed his gloved hand up the side of Rabbit’s marred cheek, and into the glossy length of her mane. He combed it with his fingers and she allowed him without hesitation. Ciel’s heart near burst out his chest.

“This is the one I want,” he said, cherishing the warmth of the mare’s skin even beneath his leather glove.

Rabbit pressed into his touch, content just to be pet.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Rabbit gave an irritated flick of her tail as Sebastian approached.

He rode a horse double the size of her. The imposing Andalusian was midnight black even under the early morning light, with rippling muscles and a heavy step. It moved with all the awe and horror of the man atop of him, both dressed head to toe in black. Both eyeing down the young heir, and his pretty, speckled mare.

“Ain’t that the spitfire?” The bounty hunter grit, flicking his eyes up Rabbit’s length.

His stallion came to stop before them, hoofs kicking up orange dust in the chilly breeze.

“Thought no one wanted her.”

Ciel felt something akin to pride tug at his heart, and he sat a little straighter in his saddle.

“She’s just misunderstood,” he drawled, raising his chin. He leaned in closer, pressing his mouth near the back of Rabbit’s ear. “Ain’t that right, _chéri?_ ”

She made a short, pleased sound and Ciel rubbed her side, staring as Sebastian rode closer to fan another judging eye over the new horse. He could not fault the application of Ciel’s saddle or his luggage, but his sight did linger on the place behind Ciel’s boot, faintly scarred and coat ruffled due to the imperfection.

“She’s been rode too hard,” Michaelis said, frowning a little as his jaw tensed.

He bought his stallion up against her side, Rabbit going tense at the unwelcome proximity, and offered his hand to the mare. She reared up, a hot burst of angry air shooting out her nostrils as she huffed at the stranger, shoulders rippling between Ciel’s thighs as she trotted back, whipping her tail back and forth in irritation. The bounty hunter’s face hardened and Ciel couldn’t help the rude laugh that escaped him.

“You know they say horses are a great sense of character."

Sebastian gave him a look, cold enough to boil his blood.

“She suits you,” the bounty hunter said. “Ain’t no one want her, and it’s a pity ‘bout her fucked up face."

Ciel's heart sunk to his stomach and his face turned pink.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

They left for a place called Ruby Flats.

“It’s a town for passing through,” Sebastian explained, pointing towards the mountains. “Plenty of whores, thieves and murderers. If your men rode through there, we gon’ know about it.”

As soon as they left Aurora Pass, the landscape gave out to red, endless dirt. Ciel looked back at the disappearing townscape, hips swaying in his saddle as he said goodbye to the last of the green - the bowed and abundant tree stooped over the railway station. When he turned to look forwards, at the trail he and Sebastian advanced on, there were only elevated mesa and a few sagebrush on the horizon. That, and the hazy, snow-capped mountains.

He kept an easy pace beside the bounty hunter, Rabbit quick and obedient, and calmer if she kept her distance from the imposing beast the other rode. Ciel let his eye linger on the animal far too long, transfixed by the muscles that shifted under it’s ebony hide, and the sheer size of it. Sebastian must have noticed, because when Ciel finally looked up the man was staring at him, that mean look up on his face.

“Don’t be looking at him,” he warned. “Don’t you touch him neither. He bites, and I ain’t taking you to no doctor if you get all cute and try to pet him. He’ll take those rings right off your hand, along with your little fingers.”

Ciel swallowed, pulling his hand closer to his chest as the other clutched his reins. He gave another nod, looking forward at the trail before them, rather than the demon-like horse next to him.

“What’s his name?” Ciel asked after an awkward length of silence, daring not to glance back at the horse or it’s master.

Sebastian didn’t answer at first, replying only in the heavy tread of his beast. Ciel raised his chin and waited, staring ahead at the scenery. He was nothing if not stubborn.

“Diablo,” the man said eventually.

So quiet Ciel almost missed it. The horse gave a snort at it’s name, and Ciel snorted too. _Hard_. Muffling his laugh into the glove of his hand as he spun around in his saddle, grinning at the black pair behind.

“Diablo?” He smirked. “Like devil?”

The bounty hunter didn’t look at Ciel, and chose to stare pointedly at the mountains. Ciel wiped at his grin with the back of his hand, snickering as he glanced down and appreciated Diablo from the front. He was sort of beautiful, in an intimidating way. His broad shoulders and glossy hair possessed a certain grace, and his eyes were the colour of molasses.

“Any more conditions?” Ciel drawled ruefully, ignoring the childish tone to his voice.

“When we’re on the road you’re under my rules. If I tell you to run, you run. If I tell you to shut up, you shut your fucking mouth. If you don’t listen to me I’ll ride off and leave you for the buzzards to peck.”

Ciel raised an unamused eyebrow, biting his tongue as he resisted saying anything nasty to the man’s crude rules. He swallowed any sass beneath his collar and straightened his back, dropping back so he could ride up alongside the man, and stare at the side of his head.

“Do you want to hear _my_ conditions?”

Sebastian clenched his jaw and stared ahead. “Do I have to?”

“It’s imperative,” Ciel answered, and watched the dark-haired man frown.

“It’s _what?_ ”

Ciel’s cheeks burnt and he cleared his throat. “It means important.”

The bounty hunter looked close to snapping at him again, but he cast his eyes downwards instead and turned his head to one side.

“Okay then,” he said, sounding somewhat subdued.

Ciel’s lips quirked up and he put Rabbit’s reins in one hand to raise three fingers on the other. His sapphire ring caught in the rising sun.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said, ducking down one finger. “Don’t hurt me or let me get hurt. And I want to shoot one man in particular. I ain't know his name, but I've been calling him the maggot."

“The _maggot?_ ” Sebastian spat.

“The leader,” Ciel clarified. He continued to stare hard at the other man waiting for an answer, for anything. Sebastian glanced to the side and he curled his lip.

“I won’t hurt you,” he promised. “Or lie to you. And I’ll let you put a bullet in that motherfucker. If that’s what you want, heiress.”

Ciel widened his eye, heart doing that nervous, embarrassed thrum in his chest as he lowered his hand.

“Heiresses are female,” he informed, voice terse.

The bounty hunter’s lips almost quirked up, head turning so his eyes could roam over Ciel’s hair tied into a bow at the back of his head, the length brushing the dip of his spine.

“I know,” he said lowly. And he rode on up ahead of the mortified teenager.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

When the sun rose directly ahead, Ciel’s mind slipped.

It wasn’t difficult to think about his brother. The person he loved most in the world. The person he would love until he took his place in the earth beside him. As Ciel passed by the millionth bush, and another artful mesa dotted the horizon, he thought of nothing but his older brother. The mountain looked no closer to them, and Ciel’s heart ached with nostalgia.

The night it had happened, he woke up to darkness.

His brothers’ hand was already pressed across his mouth, concealing the startled scream he made when he blinked and fully returned to consciousness. His twin was a warm line beside him, cotton pyjamas rustling in the bed sheets as he leaned close enough that his lips brushed the other’s ear.

“Don’t make a sound,” he whispered, and Ciel’s heart turned to lead in his chest.

He turned his head to meet the other’s eyes, wide as his own and jaw tense with anxiety. When he turned his head the other way he could see a light in the hall, and the sound of low, unfamiliar voices echoing up the hall.

“We have to go,” breathed his brother, tugging at his arm as he slipped out of the bed they shared.

Ciel could still remember how scared he’d felt as they nudged open their bedroom door and escaped into the dark hall, the opposite direction of the voices. He remembered the stifling feeling in the house. How the air felt on his bare legs, dressed in the short pyjamas his mother made him. They’d run to their parent’s bedroom, and had backed into the darkness. Ciel’s foot touched it first -

The teenager looked up at the bounty hunter’s back, Diablo’s tail flicking at a fly. The landscape around them seemed to lack vividness as he descended into his thoughts.

Sticky, warm blood between his toes. Soaked into the rug and making a wet sound as he stepped back into the dark with his brother. Blood, he discovered as they turned, from their dog. And a little further, from two bodies in the dark. They had looked like his parents, and wore his parent’s clothes, and yet Ciel didn’t recognise them at all. This time he covered his own mouth, sobbing with horror into his palm as his brother made a similar sound, hand squeezing hard into the crook of his arm.

“Mom,” he whispered, in his memory and out into the Utah desert. “ _Dad_.”

And they had hid in their father’s connected study, pressed together under his desk as the voices came up the hall, and the blood on their feet cooled and clotted. In the dark, his brother had pressed something small and silver into his own mouth.

“It’s the key to daddy’s safe,” his brother explained.

He helped his twin swallow it, and he’d whimpered in pain, Ciel rubbing the side of his throat with shaking, unsteady thumbs. When it was concealed, and safe, with the voices drawing closer, there was nothing to do but cling to each other, and press scared and calming kisses to the brow of one another.

“They won’t hurt you,” his twin had said.

Ciel was thankful for the bounty hunter’s back to him, because a single, hot tear broke free and rolled down his cheek. It scalded him, and he wiped at it with the back of his glove.

But they _had_ hurt him. And found them. And ripped them apart, dragged them out of the study, out of the bedroom through the trail of their parents blood. They had screamed. Kicked. Ciel could not see their faces for the dim, flickering lamplight but he aimed for anything, digging his nails into skin and shouting for his brother. Hands fisted in his hair, and a button broke free of his pyjamas. He was shoved against a wall, head smacking the wood so hard he was voiceless. His brother’s cries turned to echos in his ears, and he was smacked against the wall again, something wet dripping down his back.

Then he was fainting, and slipping down onto the stained carpet.

Rabbit made a sound, snapping Ciel out of his memories, and he reached down to rub at the side of her neck. She was warm and tactile even under his glove, and he breathed in deep, clearing his soul with the smell of dust, and snow, and horses. When he opened his eyes again the bounty hunter was looking back, eyes dark like the horse he rode.

“Keep up,” he said without emotion.

And Ciel cleared his throat, and did as he said.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

They set up camp in the mountain pass.

Aurora Pass, which the town had been named after, was a rocky crop of mountain side, with snow so close they both could see it. Ciel’s body felt frozen by the time they stopped, and he took so long to dismount that Sebastian had already gathered wood for a fire, shooting the boy a glare that said _thanks for all your help_.

“It’s cold,” he said pointlessly, folding his arms across his chest.

The bounty hunter said nothing, unaffected by the chill. Even Rabbit was nonchalant, and Ciel felt all alone in his suffering, drawing his coat closer to his trembling body. He looked up at the sky, which was a romantic, purple hue, and it reminded him of Louisianan summers he’d spent ‘camping’ with his brother by the river, trousers rolled up to their knees while water droplets and grass seeds dried on their legs.

“Do you need any help with that?” Ciel asked as Sebastian crouched to start the fire.

He tethered Rabbit and came closer, the man ignoring him again to focus on striking the flint in his hand. Eventually the kindling caught alright, an there was a burst of orange and warmth in the otherwise chilling environment.

“How far is Ruby Flats after the pass?” Ciel tried again, starting to feel like a ghost.

Sebastian stood up, dusting his hands against his trousers before looking at Ciel, eyes even brighter in the growing fire. He looked poisonous, his onyx hair tucked back behind his ear.

“Do you _ever_ shut that mouth of yours?” He asked, turning his back on the teenager to approach Diablo, who was untethered but showed no interest in wandering away.

The massive stallion grazed lazily at some scrubby grass as Sebastian unpacked him, pulling free a hefty parcel of a blanket, and a leather satchel.

“Do you _ever_ listen to anything I say?” Ciel shot back, crossing his arms.

Despite his coat he was still bitterly cold, and he watched with raised shoulders as the bounty hunter set up camp.

“I have half a mind to shoot you and leave you out here,” he warned.

Ciel grit his jaw, glancing back up at the stars which had tripled since the last time he looked.

“Go ahead, dog,” he muttered.

And the dog said nothing back.

He busied himself with the leather satchel, fishing out a tin that fit into the palm of his large hand. Ciel eyed it with interest, and as the man edged closer to the fire he could see it was food of some sort. The bounty hunter stuck a knife into the top of it, prying free the metal to reveal something that made the boy’s lip curl.

“Pinto beans?” He said, disgusted.

And yet his stomach grumbled. They hadn’t stopped to eat all day, and Ciel had packed nothing to take with him. Foolishly he’d assumed the man would provide for him, in the same way he had been provided for since the day he was born. The bounty hunter glanced down at the can, then up at the boy. In a rare act of generosity he gestured to the satchel.

“There’s more there if you want it,” he offered, and Ciel blinked at him as if he’d been insulted.

The man’s face didn’t change, seemingly set into it’s permanent, scathing expression, but he moved, finding a rock to sit on as the fire jumped and grew higher, illuminating the now black landscape.

“You don’t have anything a _little_ more appetising?” Ciel asked, stepping closer and looking down at the tins like they were a rotting carcass. “Can’t you go hunt something?”

“I don’t eat meat,” Sebastian said simply. He stared into the fire and Ciel’s mouth fell open.

“You murder men for a living, but you don’t eat meat?” Ciel muttered, astonished.

Sebastian glanced at him like he was stupid, sticking the spoon back into the bean tin.

“Men deserve it,” he grit. “Animals don’t.”

Ciel’s nose twitched in annoyance. He looked down at the tin of beans, and then to the satchel that held an assortment more. He was cold. His thighs ached from the full day’s ride, and yet he was unable to reduce himself to _pinto beans_.

“I ain’t never eating out of a tin,” he said with such finality that the bounty hunter snorted, picking his utensil up again.

“Then starve,” he said.

So Ciel went to bed in the dirt. Cold, and hungry, and sore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come ask me questions on Tumblr! bun-o-ween  
> AND ALSO HIT ME UP WITH SOME KUDOS PLEASE


	4. Ruby Flats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I didn't proofread this before I uploaded - so if there's mistakes or it sounds weird, come back and read it again in a day or two after I've had time to polish it up a little. I just really wanted to get it uploaded!

He woke to a snuffling sound.

Ciel's breath escaped him like a ghost, dissipating into the morning air. The earth was cold and hard beneath his body, barely cushioned by the rug he had twisted around his limbs.

A dusting of snow covered the camp, and the eighteen-year-old drew his knees up to his chest as the temperature sunk down to his bones.

He'd barely slept.

Rocks pressed into his spine, and frozen grass tickled his cheek. His arm made a poor pillow, the lines of his jacket pressed into his cheek. And it was so bitterly cold. Colder than the heir had ever experienced. So cold that the snow stung to touch, his head shifting to find the source of the curious, snuffling sound.

The fire was dead and black. The campsite silent and speckled with ice. The bounty hunter on the opposite side of the hearth was a motionless line of black blanket. Not even his face was visible, carefully concealed under the brim of his hat. Ciel watched him a moment, too sore to move, and rubbed his fingers together under the blanket.

Then the grass crackled, and the snuffling came closer, and before Ciel could roll onto his back he felt it. A hot, wet snout against his throat, raising the hairs on the nape of his neck as coarse whiskers dragged over his skin.

Ciel's heart turned to rock.

A whimper died between his lips, puttering out into a pathetic croak. He stayed still, staring dead ahead at the blackened wood of the fire as the beast snorted, pressing it's hot maw against Ciel's pulse. The grass rustled as the creature shifted, a familiar flick of hair as it readjusted it's humongous body. With his heart lodged in his throat Ciel dared himself to look up. Onyx eyes blinked back.

“D-Diablo?” Ciel stammered.

The stallion blinked it's mammoth eyelashes, breathing out again to release steamy breath against Ciel’s collar. His rubbery lips bumped into his ear and Ciel rolled onto his back, the beast standing practically on top of him.

“What's wrong?”

Diablo's snout trailed higher, grazing over Ciel's cheek until they were nose to nose. The heir crumpled his own, displeased by the smell of grass and spit the stallion breathed out across his mouth, the overwhelming, warm miasma of unadulterated _horse_.

Then the hellish creature took a chunk of Ciel's hair and tugged at it. The boy barely concealed the surprised cry he made, slapping his palm over his mouth as he batted at the horse with the other, scrambling backwards out of the blankets. He heard a _snap_ , a sting at the back of his head, and he watched with his jaw dropped as three strands of his hair dangled out of the horses lips. Diablo took a step forward, muscles shifting under his dark, dark hide – and Ciel shoved his hand up between them.

“Don't you come no closer,” he warned.

His hair was falling over his eyes, damp with horse spit. Diablo blinked, staring at Ciel's protesting hand, and then he took another step closer, hoof narrowly missing the boy's shin, and planted his nose flat against his palm. Nostrils snuffled against the offered skin before the horse snorted.

“You hungry?” Ciel drawled, yanking his hand back and wiping it on his thigh.

Diablo kept staring at him, ears flicked forward in interest.

“Me too,” Ciel lamented, getting up and going to the fire.

He picked through Sebastian’s satchel, glancing up once to make sure the hunter was still asleep.

“All we got is pinto beans.”

He listened to Diablo lumber forward, hoofs heavy in the dirt and grass, until his nose was pressed between the boy’s shoulder blades. The heir stumbled forward, bumped back down onto his ass as he pushed the big animal away from him, hand cupping the side of his smooth, black cheek.

“ _Oh_ ,” Ciel whispered softly, tilting his head.

His lips quirked up and he wrinkled his nose at the beast, who pressed his cheek firmer into the boy’s hand.

“You’re no devil, are you?”

Diablo’s eyelashes fluttered against his hand, and he breathed hot and happy over Ciel’s wrist. The heir pet the side of his head, fingers trailing up higher to see how his ears felt, when he heard the familiar sound of a gun click behind his back.

“Get away from my fucking horse.”

Sebastian’s voice was rough from sleep, and enough to raise the hairs on Ciel’s arms. He looked over his shoulder, eye flicking down to the gun aimed between his shoulders, to the man still laying on his side, eyes soft with sleep. He blinked a few times, waking fully, and suddenly his eyes were as unforgiving as the earth again.

“I didn’t touch your horse,” Ciel blurted.

He drew his hand back from Diablo and swallowed.

“I heard you whispering to him,” Sebastian accused. He got up slowly, aim never wavering. “Don’t do that. You wanna lose that other eye?”

“What?” Ciel muttered, lip curled. “You going to shoot me?”

He glanced down at the gun again, and his mouth quirked. Sebastian let the weapon glint in the sunlight, looking at the boy who kneeled before his horse. He tensed his jaw and rolled his shoulders, then stepped in close enough to press the cold, bitter barrel of the gun against the boy’s cheek.

“Yeah, I’ll shoot you,” he promised.

He nudged just hard enough that Ciel flinched, stepping past him to swipe Diablo’s reins off the grass and guide him away from the teenager. The stallion went willingly, led to the same patch of yellowed grass that Rabbit chewed at. She watched the scene unfold with lack lustre, jaw moving in perfunctory circles.

“He bites,” Ciel mimicked, just as soon as he was sure the two were out of ear shot.

He let his voice drop down an octave, copying Sebastian’s accent.

“He’ll take those rings right off your hand, along with your little fingers.”

He flexed his fingers in the sunshine, letting his family ring catch the light like all the dewdrops on the grass. He waved them at Sebastian’s back, then curled all fingers down except for his middle.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ruby Flats was just like Aurora Pass - but bigger, and dustier, and busier.

The sheriff’s station was flush with natural light. It was sparsely furnished, with unfinished wooden fixtures and a few iron cages on the far side of the room. Ciel spotted three men around a table, all of whom he assumed to be deputies, and then cast his eyes over to the man in charge. The young heir surmised everything he need to know about the sheriff of Ruby Flats the moments he laid eyes on him.

There was an open bottle of rum on his desk. And he smiled when he saw Sebastian.

“Michaelis, you moody son of a bitch.”

The bounty hunter didn’t smile back, but instead tipped his head to nod at the man whose voice boomed out across the airy room. He had salt-and-pepper hair, and his silver badge gleamed as he sat back down in the chair behind his laden desk, leather creaking with his weight.

“Ain’t seen you around lately,” the sheriff continued, looking the hunter up and down. “You still looking for your old man?”

Sebastian made a low, non-committal noise and took a seat opposite the man, Ciel quickly doing the same. He could feel the deputies staring from across the room, and as the teenager turned his head he caught eyes with one whose hair was the same colour as a rusty nail. The man’s mouth tugged up into a half-smirk, his lips pursing as he blew a kiss to the boy from across the room. Ciel’s cheeks darkened and he turned back to the sheriff.

“I was,” Sebastian continued, leaning back in his chair. “But then I ran out of money.”

The sheriff huffed, rubbing at his stubble as he finally laid eyes on the teenager beside the hunter. He nodded respectfully, glancing at Ciel’s eye patch, then his sapphire, and then he let out a low whistle.

“Sure looks like you found some."

The man raised one silver eyebrow and shook his head. He reached out and offered Ciel his hand, and the boy shook it.

“Ciel Phantomhive,” he said with an air of reverence to his voice. “I heard you were making your way through these parts.”

“Yes sir,” Ciel lilted, and the sheriff released his hand with a little squeeze.

“That’s not all we heard ‘bout you,” one of the deputies said.

Ciel was unsurprised to see it was the one with the auburn hair who had spoke up.

“Pipe down, DeWitt,” the sheriff barked.

But the man, DeWitt, only stood up and strode over, staring down at the heir as he came uncomfortably close to the chair on which he was seated. Ciel swallowed, curling his hand into a fist on his lap.

“What’s it to you?” Ciel asked, finding his voice despite the lump in his throat.

DeWitt and the other deputies snickered at what the boy could only imagine was his accent. The aburnette tilted his head and gave the heir another sickeningly sweet smile.

“I heard you were insanely beautiful,” he said, eyes flicking over Ciel’s face and neck. “And I heard you were a good fuck. Now I finally see you in person, I know one of those things are true. Care to clarify the second for me, sweetheart?”

Even Sebastian went stiff in Ciel’s peripheral. The room seemed to go eerily silent, and the teenager could only hear his own pulse, and feel his face heat up at the licentious words.

“Don’t call me sweetheart,” he muttered firmly, but couldn’t quite lift his head.

His words only made DeWitt’s smile grow wider, and he lifted his hands in a faux apology.

“Now now. No need to be like that, I’m only being friendly.”

His eyes darted past Ciel and landed on the bounty hunter behind him, expression quickly changing from wicked, to down right contemptuous.

“What you doing travelling with this dog, sweetheart? I could find your men half as quick. And besides, I think you’d find me and my men more amenable.”

He trailed off, voice thick with a double entendre that turned Ciel’s stomach into a nest of cottonmouths.

“I’ve made my choice,” Ciel spoke, slightly louder than before.

He looked back at Sebastian and saw the man was tense, eyes narrowed and gleaming up at the deputy that leaned lazily against the desk of his superior. The sheriff rubbed at the back of his neck like he’d seen it all before.

“That ain’t much of a choice,” DeWitt said with a little laugh.

Then Sebastian’s chair squealed as it was pushed back, and the hunter stood to full height, teeth grit so tight Ciel could practically hear it. DeWitt barely flinched, his bright eyes cool and calm as he unfolded his arms, letting his fingers catch the handle of his guns as he did so. The sheriff cleared his throat, eyes darting back and forth between the stalemate.

“Come on boys,” he grit. “That’s enough. We’re in the company of a fine young gentleman. A millionaire, no less.”

DeWitt glanced back down at Ciel. Sebastian stayed standing. The boy could feel his eyes burning holes into the back of his neck before he finally took a seat, and the tension seemed to drift back down to the floorboards with the dust particles.

“I assume that’s why you’re here,” said the sheriff to Ciel. “Mighty cruel what happened to your family. You have my deepest condolences.”

Ciel nodded, lowering his eyes to his lap.

“The _millionaire_ don’t know who did it,” Sebastian said, leaning forward. “You keep any of them posters laying around? Figured he might recognise one of ‘em.”

“If you don’t mind,” Ciel added quickly, and Sebastian shot a mean look at the side of his head.

The sheriff nodded, and then himself and DeWitt worked together to fetch a tall stack of posters, thick enough to _thud_ when they were placed down in front of Ciel. The illustrations were crude, but the boy begun to pick through them one by one, Sebastian staring over his shoulder with all the patience of a coiled snake, It wasn’t until he was halfway down the stack that Ciel saw a face that stilled his hand, and made his heart catch in his throat.

“Him,” he said in an exhale, holding the poster up to the light.

 _Javier Delgado_ was printed across the top in fat, black ink - but it was the illustration, especially the cold, black eyes, that held the boy’s attention for the longest. There was a scar on his nostril too, that sort of detail unmistakeable.

“Delgado?” The sheriff said, looking over the poster. “What would he be doing down in Louisiana?”

“He was there,” Ciel insisted, eyes not leaving the drawing. Sebastian leaned forward and snapped the poster from his hand, examining the picture carefully as his brow drew into a frown.

“You sure that’s him?” He asked Ciel, and the heir nodded.

He was resolute. Sebastian looked down at the face once more, committing it to memory before handing it back to the eighteen-year-old.

“Last I heard he and his men were off in Grand Hollow terrorising the locals,” DeWitt chimed in, suddenly serious.

The sheriff leafed through the remainder of the posters, fishing free four additional pages and handing them over to Ciel.

“You recognise any of his gang?” The silver-haired man asked, and Ciel looked the posters over carefully, shoulders calling a little as he shook his head.

Sebastian took the papers from him and folded them, along with Delgado’s, into the pocket of his waistcoat.

“If we find Delgado, he could lead us to the others,” he explained, and his determined voice fostered a sense of relief in Ciel.

While the man was as accomodating as a prickly pear, Ciel had every confidence the bounty hunter would help him find the outlaw.

“You be bringing those men back alive?” The sheriff asked after the bounty hunter, who straightened his hat and stood to leave.

“I won’t be brining them back at all,” Sebastian replied. “They gon’ rot where they fall.”

His answer gave cause to the sheriff to groan, and he rubbed at the back of his head again.

“God dammit, Michaelis. You know I ain’t gonna pay you if you’ve got nothing to show for those kills.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed, and he looked towards the boy beside him.

“I don’t need you to pay me,” he retorted, tilting his head towards Ciel. “He’s the law now.”

And Ciel stifled a smirk as he trailed after the hunter, taking his coat from the hook at the door, just before a hand laid itself on his arm. It squeezed roughly, enough to spin the little heir around, his boots scuffing on the unvarnished floor.

“Now hold on just a minute, sweetheart.”

Ciel’s heart sunk to his gut as DeWitt pressed him to the wall, standing at least a foot taller than him. He felt sick as his bare hand touched his cheek, pulse spiking as he struggled to keep his face impassive. He forced himself to breathe lest he faint, which he was often partial to.

“I meant what I said,” the aburnette continued. “My men will do a better job, and in only half the time.”

He glanced back up at Sebastian and curled his lip.

“Someone like him? Wouldn’t even know what to do with a fortune like your’s. You ought to contract me instead, and work alongside a real man.”

“Let me go,” Ciel whispered, hating how he fell apart just because a strange man laid his hand on him.

He tried to step back but only met wood. DeWitt’s hand trailed down the side of Ciel’s cheek until his thumb skimmed over his lower lip, eyes following it’s path until he was staring hungrily at the boy’s mouth.

“I could be real nice to you,” he promised, pressing his thumb past Ciel’s lips until it met the resistance of his teeth. “if you were good to me. What do you say, sweetheart?”

And it took the brush of his knuckles over the tender line of Ciel’s scar to break him - lurching forward to catch the end of DeWitt’s thumb between his teeth, biting down hard. His nose twitched, he clamped his jaw, and a horrible yell split the silence of the dusty station.

“You _fucking_ cocksucker!” DeWitt screamed.

His hand jerked back with a trail of blood, smattering across Ciel’s upper lip. The boy drew in a breath, tongue darting out to catch the splash of it. The taste did something funny to his stomach, and he rolled his tongue into the side of his cheek.

DeWitt surged forward and Sebastian finally moved, wrist darting up to catch the deputy’s hand before he could bring it down on their heir’s face. The teenager flinched, eye wide as he watched the hunter hold the man back like it took no effort at all.

“Go,” Sebastian growled, and he stepped between him and DeWitt.

Ciel stepped backwards out the door, heel catching the threshold as he stumbled, sunshine catching his hair just as a loud crash, like splintering wood, caught his ear. He blinked the bright out of his eyes, and Sebastian followed him out him outside, looking so dark he near extinguished the sun. He grabbed Ciel’s arm, _hard_ , and dragged him off the porch of the sheriff’s station, throwing him into the nearby alley and up against the wall. Ciel’s teeth clacked as his head smacked the wood behind him.

“This is exactly why I ain’t wanna travel with you!” Sebastian barked, crushing the boy against the wall with both his hands.

“How was that my fault?!” Ciel cried back, surprised he could yell at all.

His cheeks were flustered and his mouth dark with blood, the bounty hunter’s own lip curling as he sneered down at the teenager.

“Look at you,” he spat. “Your hair. Your face. It’s like you _want_ men to harass you.”

He gave Ciel a shove, hard enough for his head to hit the wall again. He tried to grab the knife strapped to his thigh but his shoulders were pinned back, heart leaping to the back of his throat.

“I’ll kill any man who lays a hand on me,” Ciel glowered, angry tears blurring his vision.

His words made the taller man laugh, sharp and crude, and he only shoved the heir again, keeping him pinned to the wood with infuriating ease.

“How? I got my hands on you and you can’t do _anything_.”

Ciel thrashed, jerking forward but the touch was unforgiving. He remained pinned to the wall, no weapons but his narrowed, poisonous glare. If looks could kill, the hunter would be dead on the ground. But Ciel could only glower.

“You’re weak,” Sebastian bit. “And pathetic. And if you dare make a fool of me again, I’m gon’ give you a haircut, you hear me?”

Ciel couldn’t swallow past his tongue, blood too quick and hot in his veins. His chest rose and fell. He could taste hate on the back of his teeth. He tested his limits again, pressing into the man’s clutch, but couldn’t move an inch. His hair hung wild and messy over his cheeks as he glared, and glared, and with dark cheeks, finally admitted defeat.

“Yes,” he said very quietly, voice clipped. “I hear you.”

Sebastian blinked, eyes the colour of the mesa. “Yes what?”

Ciel almost laughed, mouth opening in surprise. His nose twitched and he huffed, raising his chin even higher.

“I ain’t calling no Mexican _sir_ ,” he said indignantly. “You ought to call _me_ that, seeing as I own you and all.”

Sebastian tensed his jaw and he tilted his head, something terrifying flashing over his features. A growl grew and died behind his teeth. He let go of the boy, only to grab a thick fistful of his gossamer hair in his glove, testing it once over the back of his knuckles to pull so hard Ciel shrieked. With his other hand he drew his knife, so sharp that when he held it up against the makeshift ponytail, several strands snapped loose at once.

“No!” Ciel sobbed, voice breaking. “Stop! Don’t, p-please!”

His hands flew up to the man’s wrist and tried to pry the knife away. He was faintly aware of bodies pausing at the mouth of the alley, watching as the teenager cried out, but none coming to help. He twisted weakly, hair pulled so tight he raised up on his toes, boots kicking in the dirt.

“Yes what?” Sebastian asked again, and Ciel whined.

“Yes sir!” He all but shouted, breathing in through his nose.

His hair had taken _years_ to grow, and his heart remained lodged in his throat until the bounty hunter dropped him, hair falling back against his shoulders as Ciel fell back and slumped into the wall behind him. Relief bled through him as he caught his breath again, shoulders shaking as he slid down onto his haunches and bundles his hair, vainly, into the palms of his hands.

Sebastian gave him a disgusted look and headed back to the horses, leaving the boy alone in the alley to comb his fingers through his dusty, beloved locks.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

It was nothing but a power game.

Ciel had played them before. Always had. He was small, and pretty, and the second born. He constantly had to prove himself to his brother. To his father. To the people of Clementine. And now to Sebastian. Men were always looking for a way to put Ciel in his place - but he refused to back down from a challenge.

It’s just what the Phantomhives did.

Ciel rode alongside Sebastian as they made their way out of town, riding up to a crop of scrubby brush on top of a shallow hill. From there they could see Ruby Flats as the sun set upon it, lights twinkling as the townsfolk lit lanterns, and a faint pianola cranked to life and lilted up the mountainside. Ciel sighed as the vivid red sunset kissed the top of the hotels and restaurants, and then he turned to look at their camp site. He knew it would be safer to sleep away from civilisation, now that his name was passed from town to town, but he couldn’t help mourn the want of a soft bed, or a warm bath.

He unfurled his latest purchase as Sebastian started a fire. The canvas tent was plain in colour, but the merchant promised protection from the frost, and any rain they might encounter too. Inside he unfolded the rest of the merchandise he had bought that day - three new blankets of varying textures. One was the hide of some beast, soft and fluffy as he tucked it into the canvas tent. He heard the fire crackle, and when he looked up Sebastian was watching him with a dark expression on his face.

“What?” Ciel said, nose twitching.

Sebastian readjusted his weight from one leg to the other, arms folded.

“Sheriff said you were a millionaire,” the bounty hunter said, voice terse.

Ciel sighed. He sat back on his knees, watching as Rabbit’s speckled hide caught the last of the daylight.

“I am,” he said.

“Thought you were giving me everything,” Sebastian continued carefully.

He couldn’t look at the boy, and Ciel could only make a bitter sound and turn his cheek.

“I can’t give you my daddy’s railroad,” he replied with sass, rolling his eye. “That’s where the serious money is. We had a safe in our home with some money as well, but they made off with that too.”

He stared at the man like he expected him to argue, eyebrow raised as night befell the campsite. Sebastian said nothing, arms still crossed tightly, and after a while he cast a look back towards the direction of town. He stalked off towards his horse, gathering his reins in his glove before tugging him away from the camp. Diablo followed, as always, dutifully.

“Where are you going?” Ciel asked quickly, sitting up on his knees.

The night suddenly seemed too dark. The shadows raised hairs on the back of his neck. The insects droned into the dusk and seemed to crawl right under the teenager’s skin.

“Town,” Sebastian said. Ciel scrambled up onto his feet, body a tense line.

“What am I supposed to do?” He called after Sebastian, who had already turned his back on him.

He watched him shrug his shoulders.

“I don’t care,” he said into the dark.

He readjusted something on Diablo’s back, fitting his boot into the stirrup before mounting the patient animal. Ciel’s heart crawled back into his mouth. His chest tightened in anxiety.

“W-wait,” he stammered.

His fists balled. The bounty hunter spared him a look, waiting for him to speak. Diablo paced where he stood, tail flicking like an inky ghost.

 _Don’t go_ , Ciel thought. _I’m scared_.

“Can I have some food? Please,” he said instead.

Sebastian hardly blinked. He reached back into the satchel tied to Diablo’s saddle, and rifled around in it for a can of food. He threw it to Ciel, who caught the cool and heavy parcel in his hands. Then the man was gone, his black clothes, black horse, bleeding easily into the black, black landscape.

When Ciel looked down he wasn’t surprised to see the pinto beans resting in his hands.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel Phantomhive left a bad taste in his mouth.

Not just his name, but his attitude. His hair. His clothes. His face. The way he spoke to his horse. The way his nose twitched at every _fucking_ thing. The scar on his cheek that somehow didn’t spoil the rest of him. He was just as prim and dulcet as his accent. The most irritating person Sebastian ever had the misfortune of meeting.

And the only way to get rid of a bad taste was to wash it down with something stronger.

The saloon was humming by the time he reached it. The pianola was in full swing. The sound of people spilled out onto the dark streets. Laughter, and wild excitement, and the clink of glasses. He made a beeline to the bar and ordered a glass of whiskey. Hell, he ordered an entire bottle. He was rich now, apparently.

He took the most secluded table he could find, tucked right up the back of the saloon and away from most of the action. He drank in silence, content enough to put away half the bottle rather quickly, relaxing into the way the liquor removed all the knots from his shoulders, and the thoughts from his head. As he poured another glass, he was finally interrupted by a man who annoyed him almost as much as the teenager he’d left up in the mesa.

“DeWitt,” he mumbled, looking up under the brim of his hat as the deputy sauntered over, one of his deputy scum friends following close behind.

He pulled out the chair across from Sebastian, turning it backwards so he could lean forward over the backrest, smiling innocuously at the drunk bounty hunter.

“Michaelis,” he drawled, smacking his lips. “You bring that little whore with you tonight?”

The aburnette reached out for the whiskey bottle between them, Sebastian glaring but making no move to stop him. He noticed a bandage wrapped tight around the deputy’s thumb, and he couldn’t help the smirk the image inspired.

 _Maybe that little brat was good for something after all_.

“No,” Sebastian grit, squaring his shoulders.

DeWitt drank right from his bottle, kinda messy. Like he’d been at the bar for hours.

“Now leave me alone.”

“Pity,” the other man lamented, rubbing the back of his hand across his mouth. “Would have been more than happy to take him off your hands for an hour or two.”

Sebastian gave him a look that could peel paint, lip curling and eyes narrowed into a hateful stare that would send most men running. Most _smart_ men. God, he hated Jacob DeWitt.

“Seriously Michaelis, how’d you get a job like that? Kid must be paying you hundreds if he talked _you_ into working for him.”

“Thousands,” Sebastian corrected.

He reached out for his glass and run his finger along the edge until it sung.

“Fuck me,” DeWitt swore, shaking his head. “That cocksucker really is loaded. You’re one lucky son of a bitch.”

Sebastian nodded slowly, staring at his empty cup. He loved to drink, but he felt himself getting more docile by the second. The drink might have loosened the knots from his shoulders, but it made him uncharacteristically social.

“Ain’t nothing lucky about that Phantomhive brat,” DeWitt’s friend finally said, leaning in from where he’d been resting on the wall beside them. “Got the chills as soon as he walked in the door.”

“You’re too superstitious,” DeWitt huffed, nose crinkling. “Ciel Phantomhive ain’t nothing but a spoiled little cunt, an’ I hear he squeals like a girl in bed.”

“You ain’t heard that,” the other deputy scorned, turning his face up. “You couldn’t pay me to touch him. Ain’t no kid get shot in the head and just live to tell the tale. That boy made a deal with the devil.”

“He made a deal with _me_ ,” Sebastian said, raising an eyebrow.

The deputy shook his head in disapproval, and DeWitt looked back and forth between them with an excited look in his bright eyes.

“Do you really know nothing about that boy?” The deputy asked, looking down his nose at the bounty hunter. “Or are you just as dumb as Jacob here.”

DeWitt scowled. Sebastian shrugged, reaching out for his whiskey bottle so he could top up his glass.

“I know about him,” He drawled. “Whole family was killed. Mom. Dad. Brother.”

“His _twin_ brother,” the deputy corrected, and Sebastian overfilled his glass with a flinch.

Liquor wet the back of his glove and he swore under his breath, lips pressing into a hard line.

“Thought twins were lucky,” DeWitt said, watching the wasted whiskey roll off the table.

Sebastian shook his head and ran his tongue across the back of his glove.

“Not when one dies.  _Fuck_. Are you sure?” Sebastian hissed, throwing back his overfilled glass.

The deputy nodded and he felt his heart sink. The hunter leaned back into his chair and swore again.

“You don’t want that kind of mojo following you around,” the deputy kept speaking, his voice gravely low over the drone of the saloon. “If I were you, I’d cut him loose. No amount of money is worth the misfortune of a curse like his.”

A heavy silence fell between the three men, and Sebastian took his time topping up another glass and savouring the cheap liquor on the back of his tongue. He ran his finger against the glass once it was empty, breathing out all at once and shaking his head to snap himself from the stupor.

 _$350,000_ , he reminded himself.

“DeWitt is right,” he announced eventually. “Y’all too superstitious. Phantomhive is spoiled and dumb, but he ain’t cursed.”

That made the auburn-haired man laugh, eyes glassy. He swallowed heavy before he spoke again, smoothing all his hair back off his brow, fixing Sebastian with a serious look.

“Cursed or not, I wanna teach that little bitch a lesson,” he slurred.

He stared at his bandaged thumb and turned it back and forth in the light.

“Where you boys camping tonight?”

Sebastian must have looked as hateful as he felt, because DeWitt’s eyes widened and his hands raised, sheepish grin seeping out across his maw.

“ _Je-sus,_ ” he huffed, palms up. ‘Ain’t gonna jeopardise your fortune, Michaelis. Just wanna get my dick wet. Might settle him down for you too, what do you think?”

His mouth crooked up into something crooked, and Sebastian squeezed his half-full glass so hard it cracked.

“You stay the fuck away from him, you hear?”

Whiskey seeped through the broken glass and onto the table, and the grin seeped just as sluggish from Jacob DeWitt’s licentious expression.

“If I see you, I’ll shoot you. Law or not,” Sebastian promised.

He let go of the glass. The other deputy lowered his eyes. DeWitt’s expression feel and the noirette didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.

The glass gave one final _crack_ and fell to pieces.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

The fur blanket was lush against his bare legs, but Ciel could not fall asleep.

The camp was too quiet. Every snap and crackle of the fire made his heart skip a beat. Even the occasional snort from Rabbit made him anxious. The stars he could see through the thin gap in the tent door seemed too bright, and when he looked out at the campsite he swore the shadows crawled along the ground like figures moving in the night.

Sebastian had been gone for hours.

Ciel changed into the silk pyjamas, examining his appearance in the dim privacy of his tent. The shorts sat high on his legs, exposing his slender thighs, and the top revealed his shoulders and arms. They were almost identical to the pair his mother had made for him, and the matching robe spilled over the fur floor of his tent, making him feel every part the heir he'd become. He couldn't help but trace his stomach and hipbones, a faint thrill of how small and feminine the set looked on his body.

He passed the time by staring at the fire, fur blanket pulled tight around his body. After an hour or two he'd grown weak to the can of beans Sebastian had left him, and after prying the can free with the blade of his new knife, he plucked out one single pinto bean and stuck it into his mouth. His nose crinkled at the taste but his stomach growled, and he took another between his thumb and forefinger, content just to pick at them one by one as the night grew darker, and colder.

When the bounty hunter finally showed up, Ciel almost sobbed in relief. He startled as he heard him, heavy hoofs as he lead Diablo up the shallow mountain, head downcast and hat covering his face. Ciel wondered if he ever took the damn thing off. He must have been drunk, because he let Diablo go and stumbled over to the fire, stopping only when he realised Ciel was watching him through a small sliver in the tent.

“What do you want?” He slurred, voice low and mean.

Ciel swallowed, shifting under his piles of blankets.

“Nothing,” he said. “Goodnight.”

The man ignored him, staring at the opening in the tent with a frown on his face. His eyes were the same colour as the fire. Ciel didn't move a muscle, transfixed by his stare.

“You a twin?” He asked, and Ciel found himself stunned.

He swallowed, opening the tent a little further so the man could see him nod.

“God- _fucking-_ dammit!” Sebastian yelled into the night, his words stringing together into one.

Ciel inhaled sharp through his nose, backing further into the tent as the hunter circled the fire, finally squatting down near the flames to stare into them, face tortured. After a while he sat back on his legs, and then laid down on his back with his hat tilted down over his face.

Ciel watched him for a minute, until his breath evened out into unconscious waves. Then he finally closed the tent, buried himself deep beneath the animal hide, and fell asleep to the sound of soft snoring, and dying embers.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

The man’s touch made insects crawl beneath Ciel’s skin.

His wild grin and dilated pupils made the youngest of the Phantomhive heirs recoil. His hands were bound by rough rope, wrists stinging where they lay before him. His body stung where it pressed to cold concrete. Eyes itched over his flesh, fabric of his pyjamas hitched up from where he’d been dragged across the floor.

“I thought the boss said twin _boys_ ,” laughed the man above him, dark eyes flicking down the seventeen-year-old’s long legs.

He had a little scar on his nostril too, which Ciel noticed when he leaned down so close the boy could taste his bitter breath.

“Don’t look at him,” hissed a voice from behind Ciel, and he squirmed to see his brother close beside him.

His wrists were bound too. His cheek was bruised, like they had hit him. Suddenly the youngest twin felt tenfold nervous, heart crawling it’s way out of his chest.

He squealed as the man above him yanked his silk shorts down his hips, exposing him to the room. In the dark it was hard to tell, but he could feel them all around. At least a dozen men, watching. Leering. His brother screamed with him, but in anger. His voice echoed out in the dark, cold room and he thrashed so hard they had to pin him down.

“It’s a boy,” the man with the nose scar declared, forcing Ciel onto his back so the whole room could see.

He sobbed in mortification, closing his eyes tight enough to force out the sight of the strangers staring down at his naked hips. The man slapped the side of his leg, making him cry out in surprise. His twin growled.

“Get your hands off him!” He screamed, still squirming against the concrete in his long-length pyjamas.

They only laughed harder, and Ciel heard a sharp thud, and his brother choke in pain. The youngest curled in on himself, breath hiccuped as his shoulder shook.

_Why, why, why, why -_

A gentle shushing made the men fall quiet.

A hand eased the boy’s shorts back up his hips, and then it smoothed his hair back. Ciel fluttered his eyes open in surprise, meeting the stare of his brother. He was panting hard, and his nose bled. His lip was split. The man in his hair turned his cheek up so their eyes could meet, and Ciel was aware of how strangely handsome this new man was.

 _The maggot_.

“Now it’s a damn shame the boss said to leave these boys here tonight,” the maggot said thoughtfully, eyes roaming over Ciel’s chest where his shirt had slipped down one shoulder. “I want this one as my wife.”

He had blonde hair and stubble to match. Eyes the colour of apple cider. Lips that quirked up as he leaned down and kissed the youngest twin, hard enough to make Ciel gasp. His mouth opened in shock, allowing the blonde to dip his tongue between his teeth. He kissed him like he were starved, and Ciel were food. He cried into it, horrified that he couldn’t, _didn’t_ , break away. When they disconnected the man smiled again, and the teenager sobbed loud enough to echo.

“How about it, sweetheart?” He cooed, smoothing his hand over Ciel’s wet cheek. “Gonna tell me where that key is?”

Fresh tears spilled out his eyes as he felt his twin go rigid beside him. He shook his head vehemently, pulling pathetically at his bound wrists.

“I d-don’t know where it is,” he lied.

His mouth trembled. He couldn’t stare at the cider-coloured eyed any longer, so he screwed his own shut again, lashes wet and sticky on his cheeks.

“ _Boys_ ,” chastised the blonde. “We don’t have to do this the hard way.”

His rough fingers trailed down over Ciel’s freckled shoulder, his naked arm. They slipped up beneath the fabric of his shirt, dipping down to graze against the teenager’s suckered navel. Bile raised behind the boy’s grit teeth.

“If I were dressed like a slut,” the blonde murmured, “where would I hide a key?”

There was a snicker from the collective of lingering men, and Ciel made a terrified, high-pitched sound. He pressed his knees together but he couldn’t stop the hand that slipped beneath the waistband of his shorts. The blonde’s fingers dipped between his thighs and crooked against a place that made the young heir die inside.

His cry came out stammered. His heart suffocated his throat. He pulled at his binds but couldn’t slip free. Hot breath tickled his neck. Tears dripped down his cheeks and hit the floor.

“Stop it!” His brother yelled.

His voice sounded as raw as Ciel felt. His thighs shook from the effort he used to force them together. He choked on his own spit as his twin yelled, and yelled, and cried until his voice broke.

“Don’t! Get your hands off him! _Ciel!_ I have it, I have the key! Let him go!”

And suddenly the hand was gone. His skin went cold. The rope scratched his face as Ciel tried to wipe the tears from his eyes, completely blinded, only to see the men on his brother. He heard his pyjamas rip as they tore them down his legs. His twin’s face deathly pale, lips pressed together so he wouldn’t cry. So he could look as brave as their father did. A pathetic sound escaped the youngest boy’s mouth as his sibling closed his eyes.

The blonde looked up at the long-haired brother, the corner of his mouth quirking into a soft smile.

“Don’t worry,” he mouthed. “You’re next, sweetheart.”

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel woke up screaming, and being dragged from his tent by his hair.

There was a sick moment where he couldn't tell what was dream, and what was reality. He could still feel the dirty kiss of the men on his skin, between his legs. His knees scraped the dew-dappled dirt as he squirmed. His brother's screams split his ears - high-pitched and animal like. His head hurt, scalp burnt, as a unforgiving fist dragged him from the fur and blankets, and out onto the bitter ground. When he was shoved roughly to the ground, he realised he was the one making the shrill, desperate screaming.

“Stop it!” Sebastian screamed back twice as loud, wrapping his hand around Ciel's throat. “Stop making that sound!”

He squeezed so tight that Ciel was forced right out of his dream state. The fist tightened, bruising his oesophagus. He grabbed the man's wrist and dug into it with his nails.

“Stop. _Fucking_. Screaming.” Sebastian hissed between his teeth.

He lifted Ciel up with each word. Punctuated it with a rough smack of the teenagers head against the ground. Ciel could see his eyes and they were glazed. A foggy, rust-coloured haze. Like Sebastian wasn't awake. Like he wasn't fully there.

His hand clamped down so tight the screaming stopped – and Ciel's breath along with it. He dug his nails tighter into the man's arm. Until hot blood welled up under his nails and dripped down his wrist – but he only tightened the grip. Only made Ciel's vision blur around the edges, and an even worse sound escape his lips. Like a ghost escaping his body.

Because Sebastian was going to kill him.

Then the pressure was gone. Ciel inhaled desperately. He sucked in night air like a man possessed, tasted snow on the back of his tongue. The hand around his neck remained, loose enough for the teenager to breathe. Hard enough keep him pinned. Ciel coughed spit against his own face, so weak the man could have kept him down with his little finger.

“If you ever wake me up like that again, I'll slit your fucking throat.”

Sebastian's voice was low and poisonous. His eyes were sober again – bright red. Ciel pushed up against his hand, squirming on his back against the dirt. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he drew in another raw, and rattling breath. Sebastian stared at him like he were disease incarnate. Squeezed him rougher like he couldn't help it. Like he hated Ciel _that much_.

Then he released him, and he stood up. He stared with contempt as Ciel rolled onto his stomach and heaved, spitting onto the ground. He coughed. Then he threw up all over the ground. Stomach acid touched his tongue.

“You _ah_ -ain’t allowed to hurt me,” Ciel whispered, throat tight and aching, laying on his front as the frost burnt his fingers.

His voice sounded wet and broken. Sebastian's boot crunched against the dirt as he stood over him, blocking out the moon. Ciel flinched, all the hairs on his arms and neck raised in fear.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” Sebastian hissed.

Ciel went stiller than a corpse as he felt Sebastian crouch down again, and that same bleeding, sturdy fist forced him to roll over on his back.

The bounty hunter looked impossibly madder.

His eyes flicked down to Ciel's jade green pyjamas, one sleeve hanging off his naked shoulder like it had in his nightmare. The top was hitched up, navel exposed and rubbed raw from laying on the dirt. The shorts were hitched right up his thighs. His knees were scraped and bloody.

“Are those women's clothes?” The hunter muttered, grabbing Ciel's jaw in his hand.

He squeezed, keeping his face angled up as the boy tried to hide into his hair. The heir was faintly aware that he wasn't wearing a glove, and his hands were warm and calloused.

“You really are a little faggot,” the man spat. “You're more fucked up than I thought.”

It made Ciel laugh, lip curling up as the touch on his skin overwhelmed him. His entire body felt like an exposed nerve.

“You're the one who's f-fucked up,” Ciel stuttered. The curse word tasted odd in his mouth. “You know what they say about you? That you kill for fun. Is that true Sebastian? Are you so hollow inside you need to make people _bleed_ just to feel something?”

Sebastian's thumb dug into Ciel's cheek as he shoved him, baring his teeth like a dog.

“That's better than what they say about you, heiress. They say you’re insane. _Cursed_.”

“Tell me something I haven't heard,” Ciel muttered.

Something dark flashed behind Sebastian's eyes.

“They say you sound like a woman in bed,” Sebastian whispered, leaning down so close Ciel could taste his liquor-stale breath. “That those twelve men that killed your family also fucked you in the ass, and you _loved_ it.”

"That ain't true!" Ciel cried.

He broke free and hit the hunter so hard his hand stung. The sound cut through the night, harsh and wet. Sebastian hit him harder and Ciel hit the dirt again, blood smattered out of his nose and onto his chin. He shook, adrenalin coursing through his freezing body, and he dabbed his fingers up against his nose like he couldn’t believe it.

“You can’t touch me like that,” he uttered. Sebastian sneered.

“I’ll touch you how I like,” he promised, and loomed over Ciel on his hands and knees.

Ciel felt trapped beneath him, staring up at the taller, stronger, horrifying man that looked at him with as much affection as one would a bug.

“I own _you_. You need _me_. I’m the boss here, heiress."

“I ain't need you,” Ciel promised, laughing bitterly. “You're just a big, dumb animal – and I could find a thousand of you in Aurora Pass. You ain't special. You're a stupid _dog_.”

All of the bounty hunter's weight shifted suddenly and then Sebastian's gun was at his head, pressing hard into his skull. Ciel found himself laughing, manic. The blood coming down his nose spread over his wicked smile, his laugh loud and strange in the midnight. He felt powerful. He felt wild.

“Go ahead!” He begged, rocking forward against the barrel. The cold metal burned him.

“Shoot me, go on! It'll be the most expensive bullet you ever fire. Hurt me again, I know you want to.”

The bounty hunter drew back, breathing heavy as Ciel laughed up at the moon, blood, and dirt, and tears sticking to his wild face.

“Look at you! You don't even know what to do. You want that money so damn bad,” Ciel laughed, tipping back his head.

Sebastian stood, chest heaving as he eyed Ciel down, jaw locked and cheekbones pronounced in the campfire light. The heir slowly got to his feet, ignoring the tremble in his thighs and the way his pyjamas exposed all his porcelain limbs. Sebastian stepped closer, bending over a little so they were face to face. Their noses almost touched, lips curled and teeth bared. He still gripped his gun in his hand.

“You're lucky you're rich,” Sebastian hissed onto Ciel's mouth.

He grabbed the boys jaw again, thumb finding the same bruised grove he'd pressed into before.

“I could cut you good. Worse than you've ever been cut.”

His fingers brushed the too raw, too tender line of Ciel's scar, and it sent a sick shudder right through him.

“You think you're so tough, heiress – but I could leave you out here, dressed like _meat_ , leave you with men that would make me look like a saint. You'd come crawling back to me real quick."

Ciel's heart fell to his stomach but he raised his chin.

“But you ain't going to do that, are you?”

He barely spoke louder than a whisper. Didn't have to. Their faces were so close. Sebastian exhaled onto his skin, looking like he might snap the teenagers neck in an instant. His grip loosened instead, nose crinkling as he pushed Ciel back a little and straightened up to his full height.

“No,” Sebastian said quietly. Ciel shook his head.

“No _what?_ ”

There was a long and heavy silence before the man tilted his head, worked a kink out of his skeleton, and he cast a sober, black look at the teenager heiress.

“No sir,” Sebastian said calmly. Ciel felt himself smile, heart thrumming back to life in his shivering, aching chest.

“That's more like it,” he uttered.

And he watched as Sebastian backed off, stalking around to the far side of the fire like an animal. Like he was emasculated. Ciel steeled his jaw, and forced down the urge to burst into tears.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

The kid watched.

His milky legs were in stark contrast to black around them. His hair had been dragged through the dirt but still fell in glossy strands beside his cheek. His throat was dark with bruising. His knees were red with blood. He stared as the water boiled over the fire. He stared like a slender, little ghost in green pyjamas - _women's pyjamas_ – as Sebastian made a cup of coffee. The bounty hunter glared up under his lashes as he took a sip of the gritty liquid, faintly wishing he had told DeWitt where the pair of them were camping after all.

Ciel stared as Sebastian threw out the rest of the boiled water onto the sand, his nose still bleeding sluggishly. He watched as the liquid sunk into the sand and his fingers twitched. He must have been freezing, but to his credit he stood still, bare foot in the orange sand.

“I'm going to the stream,” he said quietly.

Sebastian didn't give so much as a huff in response, and only looked up when the heiress had disappeared into the dark, his bare feet padding down the slope towards the stream that ran silver in the moonlight.

It wasn't until he heard the boy scream that Sebastian realised he hadn't needed to tell DeWitt where they had camped.

The thundering of hooves, and the teenager’s startled cry that echoed out across the night-scape, was enough to tell the hunter he'd found them regardless. Men’s voices echoed up the gully, Diablo and Rabbit’s ear pricked skyward as they listened to the commotion. Ciel’s cries were muffled with something, _thank God,_ and Sebastian stared into the dark dregs of his cup.

Eventually the sound of men, and hooves, faded away into the black, and Sebastian knew DeWitt had kidnapped Ciel just like he’d threatened. The knowledge delivered the tension back between his shoulder blades, and he supposed he ought to get up. To ride after the gang of deputies. To save Ciel from certain harassment.

But the silence of the campsite was soothing, and Sebastian made no effort to rush the remainder of his coffee.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed the chapter and would like me to update soon - let me know with some kudos or a comment! (Or both, baby)  
> And then come pester me on Tumblr!! I love answering any questions you've got about these mean, stoopid boys: bun-o-ween


	5. Grand Hollow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Usual warnings I guess. Lots of blood. Lots of tears. Lots of strong, manly feelings.  
> Mentions of rape. Death of a character, but it's not one that any of us liked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Jinx, for helping me with my Spanish.

The thing was so small it fit in the palm of Sebastian's hand.

At ten years of age, the boy had never seen anything like the thing he found in the grass. It was dusty from the dirt, and it's fur damp from dew. But when Sebastian ran his thumb over it's body he could feel that the thing was warm and alive.

It was the colour of a stormy sky, and it's maw and ears were dusted pink. When he first saw it he thought it might have been dead. Now he carried it like it were made of glass, cupped close to his chest so he could share his heartbeat with the smaller, more vulnerable thing.

The ten-year-old took it back to his home, taking care as he walked barefoot in the dirt. Agni would probably know what the thing was. His father was an animal doctor, and had probably seen a plethora of babies.

But the Rio Grande was swollen from the rain, severing his path across the border to Texas. He was all alone, and so was the baby.

He found his mother with her legs crossed on their shared bed, her skirts hitched high over her knees. Her skin was brown, much darker than Sebastian's. The colour of the river when it flooded. She was stitching a blanket, but paused her work when her son come into the room.

“Look mamá,” Sebastian announced, unfurling his hand. “A baby.”

His mother leaned forward to look. Her carmine eyes widened at the little baby, her black, black hair falling forward from her shoulders. She was so pretty, and very young. _Too young to be a mother,_ everyone said. But Sebastian loved her like the cracked earth loved rain.

“ _Ay_ ,” she gasped. “Pobrecito! It's a rabbit, little man.”

“ _Conejo_ ,” Sebastian whispered. The little rabbit twitched it's ear as if it recognised the word.

“This one is only a baby,” his mother explained. “The babies are called kittens.”

“A kitten,” Sebastian repeated back to her.

He crouched down close to the floor, holding the baby up to his eyes. It was fine-boned and delicate. He traced it's back so gently his hand shook.

“You can't keep it,” his mamá chastised, going back to her blanket.

Sebastian's heart fell to his stomach like a rock in a well. He stood up, drawing the rabbit close to his heart.

“Mamá…” He started, heart beginning to crumble away at the edges.

Her face hardened, and she stood from the bed, her skirts falling down to the dirt floor of their home.

“Don't argue with me,” she warned, holding one finger up. “What if your father finds it?”

“He's not my father,” Sebastian muttered.

He glanced down at the rabbit, blissfully asleep in his palm. His mamá clicked her teeth, and she squatted down. She tugged his ear up so they could stare eye to eye.

“Yes he is,” she hissed, and her face looked like fire. “And you know what he'll do if he finds that thing, bebé.”

Sebastian began to cry. His ear hurt, but his heart hurt worse. His breath hitched and he sobbed, his mother dropping his ear. He stumbled back, sitting down on the dirt with the kitten cupped to him. It wriggled in it's sleep.

 _You shouldn’t wear your heart on your sleeve,_ she always said.

“ _If_ he finds it,” Sebastian begged.

He looked up at the woman who raised him, his eyelashes sticky with tears. He didn't blink. Didn't breathe. He searched his mother's face, tensing his jaw so his mouth wouldn't wobble so harshly when he cried.

“I'll take it to Agni when the river comes down,” he bargained. “ _Please_ mamá. It's too small. It will die.”

“Little man…” she chastised again, casting her eyes down to the floor.

He could tell by her tone he had won. When she looked back at the child the tenderness in her eyes had returned.

“You're too sweet,” she said, taking a seat on the edge of their thin mattress, her feet bare and crossed in front of her.

Sebastian stayed on the floor, rubbing his thumb over the kitten's soft ears.

“You better toughen up, bebé. You're too soft for this world.”

But at the time Sebastian wasn't concerned with toughness. Only the living thing in the centre of his palm.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel cried out when DeWitt smacked his thigh.

The sound was muffled by the gag in his mouth. His hair fell over his eyes. His hips hurt where he was thrown over DeWitt’s saddle, arms bound and dangling down one side, his ankles free and helpless on the other.

His pyjamas hitched up his thighs as DeWitt rode away with his bounty, and the man took the opportunity to grab a thick handful of Ciel’s ass, squeezing it with a satisfied grunt. It made Ciel cry out again, and this time he heard the echo of laughter. Before he could look up he was being dragged off the horse and thrown face first to the earth.

“Look here boys,” DeWitt exclaimed, voice echoing in the crisp dawn. “Caught myself something _real_ pretty.”

He ducked down and used Ciel’s hair as a leash, tugging him up so they were eye to eye. Ciel glared, breath coming hard and heavy behind the putrid gag.

“You’re gonna regret biting me, sweetheart,” the aburnette promised.

He put his damp mouth to the shell of Ciel’s ear. His breath was sour with liquor. The miasma of it made the teenager thrash, robe slipping down off one shoulder.

DeWitt dragged him to his feet using his hair as a leash. Ciel screamed into the gag over and over until the man tugged it free.

“I ain't your sweetheart," Ciel seethed.

The boy thrashed as the man tugged him up against his chest. He felt it when he laughed, low and rumbling on his spine. DeWitt turned him to look at the two other deputies, and a cold shiver ran up the boy’s spine.

_Not again. Not again. Not again._

“You wanna play with the bitch?” DeWitt asked one of the men, tugging Ciel’s hair back hard enough to expose his throat.

“No fucking way,” the other deputy drawled, taking a step back. “Ain't you hear what I said earlier? That boy's bad luck. You keep harassing him and a world of pain will befall you, Jacob.”

DeWitt huffed, warm air hitting the back of Ciel’s neck.

“Then why the fuck are you here?” He hissed.

The other man shrugged, eyes flicking down Ciel’s barely dressed body.

“Just wanna watch,” he said.

The admission made DeWitt laugh, and Ciel’s blood run cold. He closed his eyes, feeling his heart throb and quicken in his chest. It was too much like that night. Too much like the night they’d grabbed him, dirty fingers on his pyjamas, calloused hands bruising his skin. Stiff cock lined up with the back of his thigh like a weapon.

_Don’t worry. You’re next, sweetheart._

“Think you owe me an apology,” DeWitt said against his ear.

When his hand flattened over Ciel’s stomach, the boy could feel the bandage wound tight around his thumb.

“I owe you nothing,” Ciel hissed, turning his cheek.

He tried not to yelp when he was shoved forward, his already bloody knees hitting the gravel again. DeWitt didn’t let his face hit the ground, fisting that hair again to hitch him up and shove the teenager’s cheek against the threat in his trousers. The heir snarled, swallowing the nervous sound in his throat.

“Get it wet for me, sweetheart.”

Ciel wanted to laugh at the man. He wanted to throw up. He tried to turn his head but DeWitt pulled harder at his hair, so rough it made the boy dizzy. The heir tugged at his restraints but only worsened the raw burn around each of his wrists.

“I’m going to fuck you with it, whether you like it or not,” DeWitt warned, digging his thumb into the boy’s jaw. “Now do you want it wet with spit, or with blood?”

Ciel looked up through his eyelashes. If looks could kill DeWitt would be the one on his knees.

“If you put it in my mouth I’ll make it wet with both,” the boy promised.

The auburn-haired deputy huffed in surprised, looking at the other deputies as he began to laugh. Ciel’s cheeks darkened. He twitched his nose. Then DeWitt smacked him across the face, hard enough that it knocked all the air from the boy’s lungs.

“Guess you chose blood then,” DeWitt grinned.

Then he dragged Ciel across the dirt until he screamed his heart out.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

The heir wasn’t cut out for the wild.

Sebastian could tell just looking at him. He was too pale. Had the type of skin that had never worked a day in it’s life, split open too easy on the rough dirt. His little frame invited violence, long hair a tempting leash to lesser men.

Men like Jacob DeWitt.

Sebastian grit his jaw, watching the man drag the teenager across the dirt. He was all skin, jade pyjamas doing nothing for his modesty. The sight made the man grunt, rolling his tongue into his cheek to taste the last dregs of his coffee. If DeWitt didn’t kill the boy, Sebastian certainly would.

“Told you I’d shoot you if I saw you,” Sebastian said loudly, stepping out of the dark and into the rising dawn.

DeWitt dropped the boy into the dirt, and the hunter couldn’t ignore the tug of satisfaction low in his belly.

“Je- _sus_ , Michaelis. You just ‘bout gave me a heart attack.”

DeWitt laughed and the sound soured Sebastian’s mood. He raised his gun and aimed it at the deputy’s face, watching that smile fall right off his features.

“Think you boys have something that belongs to me,” he drawled, glancing down at the boy who lay between Jacob’s boots.

Ciel glanced up, his cheeks as pink as his raw knees.

“I ain’t belong to you,” he hissed.

His proud tone made the hunter sneer, and he came close enough to Ciel that he could squat down next to him, gun still pointed up at DeWitt.

“Was talking about my fortune,” Sebastian told him, watching those cheeks fluster further.

Ciel narrowed his eye, lifted his chin, and refused to look at the older man.

“Help me,” Ciel muttered.

“You want my help, heiress?” He tilted his head. “Thought I was just a stupid dog.”

Ciel's face paled, eye wide and imperious little nose twitching in rage.

“You swore not to let me get hurt!” Ciel cried, his voice reminiscent of the screams that woke Sebastian an hour earlier.

The sound made him square his jaw, and he cast a look up at Jacob DeWitt.

“You boys hurting him?” He asked, and the surprised look on DeWitt's face turned into one of smug triumph.

“No we ain’t,” he grinned, reaching down to tug him back onto his feet again.

DeWitt grabbed Ciel's jaw and kissed him hard on the mouth. The boy whined, thrashing so hard his hair whipped around his shoulders. The defeated, smothered sound he made against Jacob's mouth was enough to have the other deputies snickering.

When he pulled away Ciel had gone rigid, eye wide like a stunned animal. The sight put a bitter edge on Sebastian's good mood. _God_ , he hated Jacob DeWitt.

“You gonna watch while I fuck some obedience into this filly?” The deputy asked, tightening his arm around the squirming teenager. “Or you want a turn too?”

Ciel was breathing heavy now, his chest rising and falling from where he was pinned against DeWitt's chest. His breath was coming out in clouds, and his eye was still eerie and wide, staring at the horizon like he wasn't even there anymore. Sebastian hated that far-away stare, and lowered his eyes to avoid it.

“I ain't a rapist,” he said, feeling even sicker than before.

He felt his stomach turn at the sound of DeWitt smacking the heir's thigh with his open hand. Another startled sound escaped the boy's mouth.

“Ain't rape,” DeWitt laughed, frowning a little like he were scandalised. “Think of it like a lesson.”

Sebastian swallowed, a voice in the back of his head. He saw his mother clenching the sheets of the bed they both shared, her knuckles white. Her hair untied and hanging over her face, stuck to her cheek with spit. Her lips pressed into a tight line to smother the terrified, animal noises she were making so Sebastian wouldn't hear them.

But he heard them. And he saw them. Saw his father squeeze her throat like it were nothing to him. Saw him glance up at where his son was hiding, and give him a feral smile.

_I'm just teaching her a lesson._

DeWitt combed back a lock of the boy's hair, and Ciel stared right at Sebastian. He glared with such silent accusation that the man felt his chest go tight. The heir said nothing, but an angry tear slipped down the side of his face.

“A lesson,” Sebastian echoed, following the tear as it dripped off the boy's chin and into the dirt.

The boy was hyperventilating now, struggling to keep up on his toes as the deputy pawed all over his pyjamas, smearing dirt across his alabaster skin. DeWitt cast a look up at the hunter, and then down to the gun in his hand. Then he slipped his hand into the heir's shorts and fumbled blindly between his legs.

“Sebastian!” Ciel suddenly cried out, his voice startling.

He squirmed with renewed vigour, thighs clamping together to try crush the unwelcome hand that groped him.

“Sebastian, help me!”

His scream bought bile to the back of the bounty hunter’s throat.

“Stop it,” Sebastian demanded.

DeWitt ignored him. He had his nose buried in Ciel's hair, drawing in a long and perverse breath of it.

“Never been with a boy before,” Jacob admitted into the boy's hair, muscles in his arm flexing as he forced his fingers further between Ciel's clenched thighs.

The boy drew in a rattling breath, eye so wide the white caught the sunrise.

“But you've got what matters,” he said with a grunt.

His wrist crooked, and Ciel's cry cut short – his entire body a rigid line against DeWitt's chest.

And then he slumped, eye rolling back, his body a deadweight in his arms. Startled, Jacob dropped him. His hair flew out like a puff of dust, landing on his back with a thud.

For a moment there was only silence.

Ciel was motionless. His arms lay bound across his chest, face covered by hair. His shirt was hitched over his stomach. His chest no longer rose at that frantic pace.

DeWitt stared. Sebastian stared. Cicadas chirped as both men stood in stupor, too startled to do anything but look at the unconscious body in the dirt.

“What did you do?” Sebastian mumbled, taking a step closer.

DeWitt looked as surprised as he felt, mouth opening and shutting like a fish. He stepped forward too, and Sebastian aimed his pistol at him – teeth grit as he flirted with the well-worn trigger.

“Stay back!” He yelled.

His voice echoed in the clearing. DeWitt raised his palms, stumbling back obediently.

“What the _fuck_ did you do to him?”

“He fainted,” DeWitt mouthed dumbly. “Like a woman.”

Sebastian crouched down beside Ciel, his heart thudding wildly in his chest. He glanced up at DeWitt, gun still aimed at the despicable man, and then turned his attention to his burden.

Ciel's mouth was slack and wet with tears. He almost looked like he were sleeping, and the bounty hunter put his finger under his nose until he felt a shallow puff of hot air against his knuckle. He tucked back some of his hair, and as the silky strands swept across his knuckles he recalled he hadn't felt anything that soft in a long, long time.

Ciel's hair felt just like a baby rabbit.

_A kitten._

And just as he smoothed the last of that hair off the sleeping boy's face, his wet eyelashes fluttered open. Sebastian drew in a sharp breath, backing up as the small thing stirred to life, sucking in air past his bruised throat. It sounded terrible. Enough to make Sebastian sneer. He grabbed the rope around the boy's hands and cut it lose, ignoring the red circles around each of his wrists. Ciel fell slack into the dirt, cradling his hands to his chest.

Sebastian rose up on his haunches, took two long strides towards DeWitt – whose hands were still raised in surrender – and he shoved him back so hard he hit the dirt.

“You should have stopped when I told you to stop,” Sebastian growled, swinging his leg over the man's crumpled body so he could yank his arm behind his back and take hold of one of his dirty fingers.

“W-what?” DeWitt huffed, squirming in the dirt. “He ain't hurt, what are you -”

_Crack._

Jacob squealed as Sebastian snapped his finger like a stick of chalk in his fist. The sound wasn't pretty like Ciel's had been. It was ugly. Torn from his throat. So disgusting he broke a second finger for good measure. Satisfaction boiled under Sebastian's ribs as Jacob _howled_ , his screams turned to chokes as he threw up, legs scrambling in the dirt so quick it created a cloud of dust.

“Wish you woulda listened to me,” Sebastian growled.

He squeezed both the broken fingers, delighted at the bubbling sound of sick against DeWitt's chin. There was a shuffling of dirt from his left, and he aimed his gun at the other deputies without looking up from what he were doing.

“Get the fuck out of here,” he warned, pulling back the hammer.

DeWitt cried out. His friends abandoned him. When the bounty hunter stood the sun had come up over the horizon, and the deputy was crumpled and defenceless between his boots. Ciel came closer to look, and his face was eerie. Streaked with tears but blank of emotion.

“Can I kill him?” He asked, voice flat.

“It's against the law.”

Ciel shot him a look, some fire behind that subdued eye.

“So is rape,” he said, throat still raw. “Could I borrow your knife, please?”

Sebastian searched Ciel's grubby face, and flicked his eyes down to the scrapes on his knees and hands. There would be a necklace of bruises around his neck come noon, some from DeWitt, and some from himself. He drew his knife from it's sheath, and handed it over with a condition.

“Just make sure you don't kill him,” he grumbled, watching Ciel step over DeWitt and lower himself down on his knees to straddle the moaning man's body. The blade glinted like the morning dew.

“Fuck!” DeWitt inhaled, fight renewed.

Sebastian stepped down on his good hand, pinning it to the ground.

“Fuck, get off me! I was just playing!”

He hollered as Ciel took his injured hand and held his knife to it. He went deadly still, a trapped animal.

“Don’t you touch me again,” Ciel said quietly.

And then, with a sharp twist of his wrist, he cut DeWitt’s ring finger clean off his hand.

Blood splattered onto Sebastian's boot and the boy's naked thigh. It sprinkled in the ends of his long hair. A thick band of it slipped down Ciel's wrist. The young heir took DeWitt’s severed finger and threw it as far as he could into the scrub.

“You talk about this night to anyone and I'll cut something else off,” Ciel promised, leaning forward so his hair smeared blood over DeWitt's face like a paintbrush.

His teeth were bared, little speckles of blood on his cheek. DeWitt was hardly conscious, drawing in sick breaths as he nursed his sluggish wound. Ciel got up, knife smeared with blood.

“Thank you,” the boy said as he handed it back to Sebastian.

He brushed past him, eye blank, and headed back up the hill towards their camp. The man watched him go, heart in the back of his throat. He wiped his blade against his trouser leg, and then turned his attention back to the dismembered deputy.

“You're s-sick,” DeWitt stuttered in pain, tears in both his eyes. “B-both of you.”

Sebastian nodded, slipping his knife back into it's sheath.

“Ain't you heard?” He smirked. “We're bad luck.”

……………………………………………………………………………

 

He found Ciel in the grass.

He was hiding behind the horses, legs folded up under his body as Rabbit and Diablo grazed beside him. If the cold bothered him, he didn’t show it. The sun had come high enough to turn the grass around him glittery with frost, and a fog covered their blackened fire.

“Can’t believe you cut off his fucking finger,” Sebastian said to him, taking off his hat just enough rub his hand over the sweat on his brow.

Ciel ignored him, holding Rabbit’s reigns in one of his hands. Diablo’s ears flicked forward at his voice, but the stubborn horse remained by the teenager’s side.

“Why’d you faint like that?” Sebastian tried again, already unnerved by the kid’s uncharacteristic silence.

He took a step closer, and Ciel flinched, falling back onto his hands.

“Stay away from me!” He demanded, shuffling backwards.

The horses milled around him, pulling chunks of wet grass between their teeth as the boy seemed to hide behind their legs. Anyone else would be trampled, but the Phantomhive heir seemed to have them bewitched.

“Did you know they were going to do that?” Ciel asked.

He still had blood smeared across his cheek. Sebastian shook his head, a lump in his throat.

“No,” he lied.

Ciel glared at him, moving back further into the brush. All limbs, and blood, and dawn-coloured hair.

“That’s exactly what those men did to me,” he whispered. He was breathing too quick again, like a little bird. “That’s what they did. Even called me sweetheart.”

He broke off with a sob, curling in on himself.

“I _hate_ that word,” he cried into his wrists. “I ain’t _never_ want to hear that name again!”

Sebastian stepped forward again, but Ciel cut him off with a soft click. He had failed to see what the boy had with him in the grass - a loaded handgun.

 _Shit_.

“I had nothing to do with that,” Sebastian swore, hoping the boy might see it was mostly the truth.

Tears dripped down Ciel’s cheek, his wrist trembling as his finger hugged the trigger.

“Put the gun down, you stupid fuck! It’s loaded.”

Ciel took his finger off the trigger, but the silver gun remained aimed at the bounty hunter’s head. Ciel glared down the barrel of it, his shoulders heaving.

“If I find out you had anything to do with it,” the boy warned, not bothering to finished his sentence.

He sounded subdued, just like DeWitt promised he would. But Sebastian hardly felt good about it now.

“Heiress, I _swear_.”

The man pressed his thumb into his brow, closing his eyes. Everything hurt. He was tired. Still drunk. He drew in a deep breath, and when he opened his eyes again the boy had lowered the gun.

Ciel stared, maybe searching his face for another lie. The hairs on his arms were raised, and he looked like hell. He rubbed at his wet face, smearing pink blood further up his jaw. His state made the man uncomfortable, and instead admitting to the deeply suppressed guilt he were currently experiencing, Sebastian crossed his arms over his chest and huffed.

“You gon’ pack up and go home now or what?” He asked, glancing off to the side.

He heard Ciel laugh softly, and it was absurdly out of place. The heir stayed curled up in the grass, fingers reaching up to touch his mare’s mane.

“You think I ain’t been through that before?” Ciel asked, turning his cheek into the dawn. The light caught the vivid scar that ran up the edge of his face. “Gonna take something a lot worse to scare me off.”

And the blank look in the boy’s eye was enough to tell Sebastian he really meant that.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel didn't speak to him for the entire day.

Sebastian thought at first he liked it. The silence. But he came to find there was nothing peaceful about the way Ciel squared his shoulders, and rode with his eye trained dead ahead.

The hunter didn't miss his chatter, nor the way he picked at everything the man did. But the silence soon became suffocating, and he found himself filled with relief as they rode into the next town, and Ciel turned to him and spoke for the first time in hours.

“I'll be back directly,” Ciel told him, hitching Rabbit's reins to the post out front the trading post.

And then he stalked off across the street and towards the bank, his ponytail swishing between his shoulder blades. Sebastian watched him go, rubbing at Diablo's neck.

When the boy returned, he looked incredibly calm. He offered no explanation as he mounted Rabbit again, readjusting the little gloves on his slender hands. He twisted the sapphire ring on his thumb, tilting it towards the sun so it gleamed.

It wasn't until they had ridden out of town, the drone of traffic left behind them in their cloud of dust, that he finally admitted what he had done.

“I had $50,000 severed from my account and donated to charity,” Ciel said, not even looking at the bounty hunter.

“ _What?_ ” Sebastian blurted.

He stared hard at the boy's head, feeling his blood run hot with rage. All Ciel gave him was a nod of his head.

“The children’s hospital of Alabama thanks you kindly,” he replied.

It was then he finally turned and looked at Sebastian. His chin was raised high, and he looked down his nose at the hunter who bared his teeth at him.

“ _No_ ,” Sebastian growled. “We had a deal.”

Ciel flicked his eyes down to his fists, and then back up to his face. He swallowed, but kept that calm, arrogant air to his expression.

“You went back on our deal when you let me get hurt,” he replied, turning back to stare out at the trail ahead.

Sebastian's heart sunk and he snarled, kicking Diablo's side to keep pace with the infuriating little brat.

“I told you,” he shouted at his back, clenching his fist. “I ain't had nothing to do with that!”

But Ciel paid him no mind. He rode forward with his head held high, and he did not speak to Sebastian again until the sun set.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

They happened across Javier Delgado quicker than expected.

Grand Hollow might have been a pretty town before Delgado and his men came across it. But as Ciel and Sebastian rode into town, the setting sun hot against their backs, they were met by the shell of a formerly respectable town.

Ciel stayed upon Rabbit as Sebastian spoke to the town's sheriff. The sun set behind the shell of a burnout building, and shard of glass knocked lose of shop windows glittered in the dirt. The streets were deserted, but Ciel could feel eyes on him. Once or twice he turned his head quick enough to catch glimpse of a face peeking out behind closed curtains.

It left a nasty taste in Ciel's mouth, thinking about how the townspeople lived in fear of Delgado and his gang of crooks.

_How many lives had he ruined beside Ciel's?_

That very night he found himself camped up on a rocky crop of dirt, watching Delgado and the others warm themselves around a camp on the horizon. Diablo and Rabbit seemed to sense the danger of the situation, keeping their nickers quiet as the two men watched. They waited for complete blackness. Until every glimmer of sunlight had disappeared for good, and the inky weight of the Utah nighttime pressed down against their shoulders.

An hour later, Ciel watched as his hired bounty hunter flexed his professional muscle.

To some it might have seemed crude.

Sebastian shot one man point blank from the darkness, no warning. He was mid-way through a sentence when the sharp _crack_ rung out across the clearing, head thrown back as the bottle in his hand fell to the ground. Sebastian had no compunction towards killing, and shot another as he scrambled for his gun.

The third of the troupe died face down in the dirt, bleeding out from a wound in his back. Sebastian followed him for a moment, stalking him like a cat might with a mouse. His blood seeped out and stained the sand, and he made such a sound that Ciel almost covered his ears.

The fourth man, Delgado, he managed to capture alive. It was there, with the man bound tight and laying on his back, that Ciel laid eyes on him for the first time since that fateful night.

“You,” Delgado sneered.

Ciel could make out that little scar on his nostril, fire light jumping across his face. He felt sick down to his core, hesitant to step closer even though the man was bound by wrist and ankle.

“Me,” Ciel replied.

“Where's your brother?” Delgado asked, the corner of his mouth curling up.

Ciel's heart turned to rock, and he reached for the gun against his ribs.

“He died,” Ciel said.

Delgado laughed again, and wheezed. Sebastian had hit him pretty hard just to get him laying still. Javier rolled his head towards the bounty hunter, sand sticking to the bloody wound in his hair.

“Deberías haber _escuchado_ la forma en que la puta chilló,” he hissed at Sebastian, laughing so hard he made himself cough again. “Como un _gato_ en celo.”

Sebastian's lip curled. “Shut up.”

“Déjame ir, hermano. No quieres trabajar para esta puto blanca.”

Ciel's cheeks burnt, looking from Delgado to the bounty hunter. He squeezed the handle of his gun in his palm and tensed his jaw. The night air was bitterly cold. Sebastian shook his head at the man beneath him.

“Esta puta blanca me está pagando _muy_ bien,” he replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Stop that,” Ciel demanded, still squeezing his gun as tight as he could. “Quit speaking Spanish.”

Sebastian snorted, eyes narrowed. He looked more serious in the fire, his cheekbones harsh and eyes brighter than the flame.

“You gon’ hurry up and shoot him?” He huffed, looking down at their prisoner.

Ciel blanched at the bluntness of it, his chest tight as he glanced down at Delgado. He was _glaring_ at Ciel, chest rising as be tugged at his restraints again. His gang lay in bloody pools around him, eerie and motionless. Their forgotten horses flicked their tails from the tree-line, heard but not seen.

“I don't want to shoot him,” Ciel said quietly.

His hand was shaking where he held the weapon. He couldn't bring himself to even aim it at him, let alone touch his finger to the trigger.

Delgado smirked. Sebastian grit his teeth, giving Ciel an annoyed look. He raised his own pistol and aimed it between Delgado's eyes.

“Wait,” Ciel said.

His heart was pounding. He put his gun back in it's holster, and then his fingers went for the knife strapped to his leg. When he drew it from it's sheath, Delgado startled – eyes wide and boots scrabbling in the dirt.

“Can I use this?” Ciel asked, tilting the virgin blade towards Sebastian.

The bounty hunter tilted his head to the side, working out an ache in his neck.

“The fuck you asking me for,” he grit.

Ciel's nose twitched, and he swallowed thinly veiled contempt for the man dressed all in black.

“Fine,” Ciel muttered back, and stepped over Delgado just like he had with DeWitt.

The knife felt sturdier in his hand, but his wrist still trembled like it had with the gun. He was suddenly aware of how real the moment felt. How sharp the blade he gripped was, and how human the man beneath him. He took a deep breath, and poised his knife over Javier’s chest.

“Sebastian,” he said, wrist still shaking. “What did he say to you before?”

He heard the man shift his weight from one foot to the other, and when he spoke his voice was gritty and deep.

“He said your brother cried like a whore when he fucked him.”

“Oh,” Ciel said, and his wrist ceased to tremble.

He pressed his tongue into his cheek. He kissed the handle of his knife.

Then he drove the blade into Delgado’s chest.

It dug in an inch before his wrist jarred, meeting something hard under the man’s skin. Javier screamed, the sound far worse than DeWitt’s. He thrashed so hard he almost threw the boy off him, neck craned back like he were being burnt. Ciel pressed harder on the handle of the knife, but he couldn’t push any deeper.

“That’s his chest plate, heiress,” Sebastian noted, coming down beside him to put his hand over Ciel’s on the knife.

He helped the boy push down, grunting as he shoved hard, the blade stabbing in deep enough to have Delgado choke. His legs went rigid under Ciel. His body thrashed in the dirt. Ciel gasped as Sebastian helped him twist the knife loose, and blood splattered over his face and neck.

“Messy,” Sebastian said casually, wiping his glove on his trousers. “Try again.”

Ciel stared at him, and was surprised at his own lack of remorse. If anything, he felt good. Excited, even. As the blood cooled on his face, he found himself desperate for more. _To hurt Delgado the way he’d hurt him_.

He aimed lower the second time, his knife plunging easily into Javier’s stomach. The man gurgled on his own blood, his thrashing growing weaker. Ciel twisted the blade, listening to the man cry for him. He twitched unnaturally, and the boy considered gutting him. Just like those men had gut his brother.

“How does it feel?” He asked Delgado.

But when he looked up for a reply, he realised the man was dead.

Ciel pulled his knife from his stomach, the blood covering every inch of the blade. He watched it roll down the handle and onto his wrist, seeping into his sleeve. The white linen bled black, the flames of the fire casting shadows over Delgado’s twisted face.

Ciel closed his eyes and ran his tongue flat along the length of the knife.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

When the undertaker found him, he was crying.

The sun had set an hour ago, and the church was lit only with candlelight. It was a warm night, cicadas singing as the whispers of Clementine echoed out across the wooden walls and wooden floors. It would have been a beautiful night for his eighteenth birthday, had his family been there too.

The boy wiped at his cheeks when Adrian sat beside him, the pew creaking beneath their shared weight.

“I heard about what happened today,” Adrian said after a moment of silence.

Ciel’s sniffle echoed in the hall. He wondered if the man had seen the bloodstains on the floor as he’d come in.

“You and the entire town,” he said bitterly, tears still dripping down one side of his face.

He gave up wiping at them, and the undertaker made a soft sound.

“I thought you and Alois were close,” Adrian speculated, and Ciel shot him a nasty look.

He coiled his hand into a fist and tried to swallow the lump in his throat, skin prickling with heat.

“Close,” he repeated, voice barely a whisper. “Close like you and my daddy?”

He watched Adrain’s face turn from one of concern, to one of shock. The colour drained from him, skin as pale as the alabaster hair tied in a knot at the nape of his neck.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” the undertaker said, his eyes wide.

Ciel saw him glance at the wooden crucifix above them, and his throat bob heavily beneath his collar.

“I saw you together,” Ciel hissed.

He looked at the carved Jesus too, not bothering to lower his voice.

“I saw you kiss him in our home, while mom fixed tea in the next room.”

“ _Ciel_ – stop talking.”

The undertaker gripped the pew so tight his knuckles turned white. He stared down at the floor, where Ciel’s tears had dried on the wood. His mouth was pressed into an anxious line, and Ciel felt a cheap thrill of satisfaction inside his aching body.

“Is that why they killed him?” Ciel demanded to know. “Because he, because _you_ …”

He trailed off, shaking. Adrian shook his head so hard a strand of hair fell free, falling between his eyes.

“ _Ciel_ ,” Adrian warned, breath hitching. “ _No_. Of course not! No one knew.”

 _I knew_ , he wanted to say.

But he had hurt the man enough already. He no longer felt any joy at the grown man’s agony. He remained quiet as the undertaker pressed his head into his hands, drawing in a deep, shaky breath.

“I think it was someone on the committee,” he admitted, turning to make sure Ciel heard him. “Vincent told me they were planning to put a railway through Pawnee territory in the North. It would have displaced, _killed_ , hundreds. Your father wanted nothing to do with it - and the committee knew that.”

Ciel didn’t breathe.

“No…” he muttered, shaking his head.

He glanced down at his knees. It was easier to imagine the culprit a faceless thief, and not one of twenty men he had met several times before. Who had come to their birthdays, their Christmas parties.

“They went through with it last month,” Adrian continued.

“Before I turned eighteen,” Ciel realised. _Before he became the heir to the railway_.

“None of them would have done the job themselves,” the undertaker said. “I think your best bet is working backwards until you find the maggot responsible.”

Ciel glanced up at him. At some point he had stopped crying.

“You heard about my plan?” He asked, somewhat shyly. Adrian nodded.

“Me, and the entire town.”

Ciel laughed at that, and his chest clenched at the sound. He felt insanely guilty, and he wished he would take back all the things he’d said to Adrian. The man who had carried him from the basement in his arms.

“Did you love him?” Ciel asked the undertaker.

He was blushing, cheeks pink and sticky with tears. He couldn’t meet the man’s eyes as he nodded, but something sweet tugged at his navel.

“With my entire heart,” Adrian replied.

He reached out for Ciel’s hand, and the boy took it. He squeezed, and let his thumb rub over the sapphire ring on the heir’s finger.

“Do you-” Ciel hesitated, taking a deep breath. “Do you think he would still love me? If he knew.”

Adrian threaded their fingers. “Knew what?”

 _What really happened in the basement_.

Ciel cheeks burnt. He didn’t think he could answer, his throat tight with fear. He shifted closer on the pew to the man who had been his father’s closest confidant. He came close enough to smell his cologne, and the faint trace of chemicals.

“That I like men too,” Ciel whispered against his hair.

Adrian exhaled, and when he turned his head he laid a kiss to the crown of the eighteen-year-old’s hair.

“Of course he would still love you,” he promised.

He reached up and tucked back some of Ciel’s hair, examining the dried blood on his cheek and nose.

“I was there the day you and your brother were born. Did you know that?”

Ciel huffed. “I know.”

“And you know you’re the closest thing I have to a son,” Adrian said next.

Ciel shut his eye and nodded, fresh tears coming down the side of his face.

“I know I can’t stop you from going,” Adrian whispered. “So promise me something.”

He pulled back, and he presented Ciel with a small parcel wrapped in a handkerchief. It was tied with a piece of string, fashioned to look like a birthday gift. As soon as Ciel took it in his hands, he knew exactly what it was.

“Promise to make them suffer for what they did,” Adrian said. “To your brother. To your parents. And for what they did to you.”

Ciel tugged the string lose and in his hand was the gun that had shot his brother. The gun that had shot him too.

“Bleed them dry,” Adrian grit.

Ciel drew the gun to his heart and he promised Adrian he would.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE LEAVE ME A KUDOS AND A COMMENT IF YOU ENJOYED THIS CHAPTER! Also!! Come talk to me on Tumblr!! at bun-o-ween :D
> 
>  
> 
> The Spanish bits:
> 
> You should have heard the way the slut squealed. Like a cat in heat.
> 
> Let me go, brother. You don't want to work for this white whore.
> 
> This white whore is paying me very well.


	6. Credence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please note - there's a rape scene in this chapter, and a lot of talk regarding it. Please take caution.  
> Also, another murder. But is that surprising?

Ciel woke with a start.

He could tell it were dawn by the light streaming in through his tent. At some point in the night he'd kicked the thick blankets off his legs, but now they were freezing. His tender skin split as he tried to bend his knees, scraped and healing. He hissed as he tied his jade gown tight around the circle of his waist and crawled out of the tent.

It was cold. A thin layer of snow covered the earth and burnt the bottoms of Ciel's feet. His breath came out in clouds. The ground crackled as he shuffled towards the fire.

“You look like hell,” came a sneer, carmine eyes flicking up from the other side of the fire.

Sebastian glanced at Ciel's tangled hair, down to his bruised arms and skinned knees. When the heir looked down at his hands he could see his nails were still caked in Delgado's blood.

“You don't look much better,” Ciel retorted, nothing the shadows under Sebastian's eyes.

He looked like he hadn’t slept at all. Ciel cleared his throat, and the awkward silence stretched out across the frosty dawn.

“I'm going to the river,” he announced, ducking down to gather clean clothes.

The bounty hunter snorted.

“It's cold,” he grit, as if Ciel had somehow missed the way the temperature bit at the end of his nose.

“I'm covered in blood,” Ciel hissed back.

He could deal with the snow. He couldn't deal with the dirt any longer. He could smell himself, the miasma of blood.

“And whose fault is that?” Sebastian asked. “You’re the one who decided to stab him like a psycho.”

He stood as Ciel toed into his unlaced boots, arms full of clothes. His cheeks burnt at the words but he strode right past the man. Sebastian grabbed his arm before he could go any further.

“You've got blood on your fucking mouth,” Sebastian muttered, and his lip curled.

Ciel blushed, turning his chin against his shoulder. He could taste gore on the back of his teeth. The way the man glared at him had his skin prickle.

“They really fucked you up, didn't they heiress?” Sebastian continued.

His voice was hoarse from lack of sleep. His fingers squeezed Ciel so hard it hurt. The boy grunted.

“Let me go, you degenerate half-breed.”

Sebastian's eyes flickered, and then he was shoved. So hard he fell back on the snow, back hitting the earth. It knocked the air from his lungs. The bounty hunter stared down at him, eyes narrowed.

“The degenerate half is the white half,” he said, kicking dirt against Ciel's face as he stepped over him.

Ciel got to his feet, jaw clenched to stop the stream of ugly words he wanted to cuss at the hunter. He glared at the man who gathered Diablo’s reins in one glove and moved ahead of him on the trail.

“I'm gon’ come with you.”

Ciel swallowed, and was reminded of the bruises encircling his esophagus.

“I ain't need no escort.”

Ciel trailed along behind him anyway, quietly grateful for the protection. He hadn't bathed since they left Aurora Pass, too shy of the great unknown. They made their way down to the water, fog rising off the surface, and Sebastian thrust out his hand and offered him Diablo's reins.

“Take him,” he demanded.

Ciel took the leather and the horse went obediently, falling into place behind the boy. The stallion snuffled the back of his hair.

“Why?”

Sebastian shot him an annoyed look. Like the heir should know _everything_ he thought. Like his actions were as easy to read as a clear day, but to Ciel seemed as choppy as the river.

“So if someone comes you can get away,” he said, eyes narrowed like it were obvious.

He shouldered his rifle and nodded at the slope overlooking the river.

“I'm gon’ keep watch from up there.”

Ciel started at the slope, and then at the water. His cheeks burnt despite himself, and as Sebastian turned to stalk up the mountain, Ciel called out to him.

“Don't you dare look at me.”

He saw Sebastian’s shoulders ripple and tighten under his shirt and vest, and despite his back facing the heir, Ciel could hear him grit his teeth.

“I ain't gon' look at your skinny, faggot ass!” He growled, loud enough to echo.

Even Diablo's ears flicked back.

“A bath wouldn't hurt you,” Ciel murmured.

He didn't think the man would hear him, but as he lead Diablo down to the water he noticed the hunter pluck the corner of his shirt and hold it to his nose for a smell. It made Ciel smirk in triumph, tugging the stallion down to the water's edge.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel gasped as the water met his ribs.

It was the sort of cold he'd never experienced, so freezing it felt like fire around his legs. It forced the air from his lungs, and he gripped Diablo's inky mane. He hid his nakedness against the creature, in half a mind the river would whisk him under and take him back to Louisiana.

At first he was too stunned to move. His stubbornness prevented him from crawling out of the icy stream, even as his hair wrapped around his throat like tentacles. His heart thud with sickening pace, nipples hard and pressed to Diablo's ribs. He could see his breath, and small chunks of ice slipping down the black current.

The blood came off him easily. He washed his hair with soap which smelt like lemons. The suds slipped into the stream and he rubbed some into Diablo’s mane too, wondering if the bounty hunter could see what he was doing. He smiled to himself, and Diablo nosed at his cheek.

He stared up to where Sebastian waited, watching his hair tug forward on the surface. His thoughts ebbed past him like the river debris. Last night’s dreams came too, turning the rushing river to static, and replacing it with the sound of his brother screaming.

“Don't worry. You're next, sweetheart.”

He had no difficulty remembering the noise of his brother's pyjamas ripping. How his bare legs had sounded as he scrambled against the concrete to the snickering of a dozen men. Ciel let himself sink lower into the water.

His twin didn't scream once.

Not even as they took turns of him, one by one. Raping him while he was forced down on his stomach. So hard he had blood on his legs and smearing at his knees. So rough the only sound he made was a terrified choking. At the time, Ciel had been strangely aware of how proud their father would have been.

Ciel screamed enough for the both of them.

They didn't lay a finger on him but he felt every thrust. He felt it in his heart, felt his soul rip apart and snag against his ribcage as his brother stared right at him but saw nothing. Spit dripped down his chin and pooled where his cheek rubbed the floor. His hair was wet with sweat. He didn't blink, just stared ahead with unfocused eyes as the youngest sobbed.

“Where is the key?” Cider-eyes asked gently, like he hadn't raped the Phantomhive heir alongside eleven of his men.

Ciel's brother didn't speak. In fact, he used the last of his strength to press his lips into a defiant line.

Cider-eyes sighed, pushing his brother’s fringe back so firm his head smacked against the concrete. Ciel had tears running down his cheeks, so many he no longer tried to wipe them, nose and cheeks raw with the chaff of the rope binding his wrists.

“He's all worn out,” the man said to his posse.

Some of them were smoking, and it made Ciel's nose twitch.

“Lucky there’s a spare.”

Ciel stared at his brother's face, so shocked he didn't register the words. But his twin did. He went from looking at the concrete, to full-fledged panic.

“No!” His brother cried out. A raw, and wet sound – distressed from misuse. “Don't touch him!”

Diablo nickered and Ciel gasped, blinking at the icy river. He was breathing so heavy it hurt, fingers tight in the horse's mane. He rubbed his palm over black muscle and pressed his cheek into the crook of his arm, tears rolling down his cheek.

“I wanna know something, sweetheart.”

Ciel could still remember the way cider-eyes squatted down over him, holding his jaw in his hand. He squeezed, and Ciel sobbed. His mouth fell open and the blonde traced his lip, tilting his head to examine the boy like he were an animal.

“Is it true you’re identical in every way?”

The man waited for an answer, and Ciel could no longer stare into his honey eyes. He turned his cheek to the floor and nodded, tears dripping down into his ears.

“Yes,” he mumbled. Cider-eyes grinned.

“That’s really something. But I have noticed some differences.”

He coaxed him to look back up again, to stare up at his captor through sticky eyelashes.

“You're louder,” the man said, and some men laughed. “A screamer. Not as brave as your brother.”

His thumb traced over his lips again.

“You're smaller too. And the way you dress…” He trailed off to ease the strap of Ciel's nightshirt down, exposing his chest.

“Something tells me you’re not like other boys, sweetheart. Something tells me you've been with a man before.”

He took Ciel's bound wrists and pressed his captive hand against the stiff flesh in his trousers. Ciel moaned in agony, trying to yank back his hand. Cider-eyes forced him to squeeze it and he gagged. It felt like a loaded gun, hot and heavy in his palm.

“Or at least _thought_ about it,” the man added in a softer tone, watching as the boy shook.

His brother was sobbing. _Don't. Don't_. Or maybe it was him, he couldn't tell.

“C'mon now, sweetheart. Tell me where that key is, and you can keep your virginity.”

Ciel opened his eyes and he was back at the river. He was so low in the water his chin brushed the surface. He could see Sebastian on the hill. He didn't move, but the sun shone bright off the end of his rifle.

He shut his eyes again, and smothered his whine into Diablo's hide. His chest seized against the horse and his tears bled into black.

Ciel never told him where the key was.

He couldn’t. Not when it was hidden inside of his brother's stomach. Not when all that separated it from the men was the fragile flesh of his navel.

“I wasn't lying when I said I would marry you,” cider-eyes whispered. “I'd take you down to Mexico, keep you tied up to my bed. Pretty little cocksucker like you, it's what you were made for."

His finger hooked under the band of Ciel's shorts and yanked them down his thighs. The cold nipped his skin, and as he sucked in a wet gasp the man took the opportunity to kiss him, slow and searing.

“Make sure you never saw sunshine again,” cider-eyes whispered.

Maybe it was his threat, or the scared sound Ciel made. But his twin's resolve broke, and everything went to hell.

“I have it!” His brother screamed. “I have the key! Let him go!”

Ciel could still remember the way he'd cried. How his heart had eroded in on itself. He could feel it, heavy and rusty in his chest as the icy river washed his tears away.

“If I tell you where it is you can't touch him. Not a single finger on him. Do you hear me?”

He sounded just like their father. He commanded a formidable power laying half-naked on the floor.

“Don’t,” Ciel begged. His soul shook. “Don’t. _Please!_ ”

His brother stared up at cider-eyes. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. He spared one look at his baby brother and steeled his jaw.

“I'm a man of my word, Phantomhive. I won't lay a finger on your brother. Not one. _None_ of my men will – if you tell me where the key to your daddy's safe is.”

“B-brother, don't,” Ciel begged.

His twin stared at him, conflict in his deep, blue eyes. Ciel didn't think they looked a thing alike. His brother appeared strong and handsome. There were no tears in his eyes – only fire.

“I swallowed it,” he mumbled, still staring at his brother. “I swallowed the key.”

Ciel lost consciousness in the real world. Just for a moment. Long enough that when he fainted he fell under the surface of the water and slipped beneath Diablo’s body, whisked away the second his fingers loosened in the horse's mane.

He came to an instant later, eye wide and faced with only black. A sharp pain tugged at his hair and he broke the surface, spluttering. Diablo had his hair between his teeth, his ebony eyes blinking down at him as he kept him close by the leash of his hair.

It hurt, but Ciel laughed in relief – sudden and loud. He slapped his hand over his mouth, standing up until he was waist deep again, arms looping tight around Diablo’s neck. He breathed in the scent of him until his pulse stopped racing, fingers tracing the anxious muscles of the beast.

He pressed a kiss to the stallion’s neck, and squeezed his eyes shut so tight he forgot the sight of his brother's face, just for a moment.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian couldn’t take his eyes off him.

He stirred sofkee over the fire as Ciel wrung out his hair. With it pushed off his brow it exposed his face, and for the first time Sebastian noticed the full extent of his scar. The water had turned it a vicious purple, and he stared hard at it as he followed the length from chin to his hairline, the worst of it hidden by the eyepatch.

“Don't you ever take that thing off?” He blurted.

“No.” Ciel’s eye darted to the sofkee, unable to contain his desire. “Is that ready?”

Sebastian ignored him.

“What's wrong with it?”

He saw something flash across the boy’s features, but then it was gone. He blinked, and his nose twitched it the way it often did when he were agitated.

“It's unsightly,” Ciel answered.

He shrugged the fur blanket higher up his shoulders, trying to hide his face. Sebastian grunted, and served himself a bowl of the stew. Ciel stared at it like a hungry dog. Sebastian stared just as hard, stuffing a spoonful past his teeth. It was too hot and burnt his tongue, but it was worth it just to see the heir's face fall.

“I was shot in the face,” Ciel said, still gazing at the food.

It sounded like an offering. Sebastian exhaled, sitting his bowl down in the grass. He served a second, standing to bring it to the heir.

“What is it?” Ciel asked, holding the bowl up to his face. Sebastian bit his tongue.

“Sofkee,” he replied. “It’s hominy and rice.”

He watched the heir take the most petite mouthful of the sofkee, chewing at it with a frown. After a moment he softened.

“It's nice,” he decided.

Sebastian stuffed sofkee into his mouth to stifle the pride he felt. He glanced up as he ate, still examining the side of the kid's face.

“You should have died."

Ciel paused with the spoon in the corner of his mouth. When he looked up his expression told the hunter his words had come out wrong. Instead of rectifying the situation, he swallowed and took another stubborn spoonful of sofkee.

"That's what the doctors told me," the heir said.

Ciel lowered his bowl and stared at where the horses were tethered in the tree line. By now the fog had turned to cloud cover, and everything was misty and grey.

“I don't know,” Ciel said. In the distance a branch cracked. “I didn’t…”

He trailed off, voice caught in his throat. The boy's fingers came up to his scar again, this time touching the dimple it made when it cut under his jawline.

“It went in here,” he explained, eye glazed like he were seeing it play out again before him. “And came out here.”

His finger trailed higher, skipping over the patch until it touched his hairline. The scar went in a fraction, leaving a notch in the otherwise perfect line.

“Almost blew my eye out,” he added, hand coming back down to the bowl of sofkee. “Can’t see out of it. They told me I was lucky.”

Sebastian snorted, rice stuck in the back of his throat. The corner of Ciel's mouth quirked up. Some kind of twitch, a knee jerk smile.

“That deputy reckons you made a deal with the devil,” Sebastian mentioned. He watched as that shy smile faded. “That you hide the contract seal under the patch.”

“Do you want to see it?” Ciel asked with a bitterness that didn't match his Cupid face.

The boy looked murderous, and with a heavy swallow Sebastian recalled what he had done to DeWitt.

“No,” he lied, scooping up another spoonful.

He became intensely interested in the fire between them, chewing as he waited for the prickle of Ciel's staring to leave him.

“Do you really think I'm cursed?” Ciel asked after a moment.

Sebastian paused, spoon halfway to his mouth. He put it down again and nodded, glancing up through his eyelashes. Ciel huffed.

“Why?”

“Because your twin died. People think… _I think_ , that half your soul died with him.”

Ciel continued to stare at the hunter, but this time it was without anger. He had a strange look on his face, like he were lost in thought. The sofkee bowl remained in his hand but he didn’t eat. His skin was the same colour as the snow. His eye was glassy like the water.

“That’s how I feel,” and Sebastian couldn’t look away from the way he said it. “Like half a person.”

He didn't have the appropriate words to reply to something as equally bitter and beautiful like that. So he stuffed his mouth with sofkee, and stared at the ground instead.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel was half asleep in his saddle.

He had not adjusted to life on the road kindly. Each morning he woke with the indents of a dozen rocks in his spine and frost deep in his bones. The mornings were cold but the days were hot, and when Ciel wasn't shivering he was sweating until his shirt stuck to his chest.

From Grand Hollow it was a few days ride to a town named Credence. Sebastian promised there was a reputable sheriff's department in town and it might be good for a lead. But what neither of them expected was to come across their next target before they even stepped foot before a deputy.

Rabbit and Diablo were tied up out front the trading post as Sebastian gathered supplies, and Ciel browsed. It was as he picked through the bottled soaps the heir glanced up through the dusty window and became aware of a man crossing the street. He wasn't particularly notable, with brown, wavy hair – but he had a face Ciel could not forget.

The man turned, and their eyes met through the glass. His eyes widened a fraction in recognition and the colour drained from Ciel’s skin.

There was a sharp crack as a jar of lavender oil slipped out of the boy's hand and smashed between his shoes. The miasma filled the store, and distantly Ciel could hear the shopkeeper yelling something at him. But he took no notice, transfixed.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Sebastian said behind him, but his voice lacked it’s usual bite.

He looked at the window too, arms crossed over his chest, but the man had gone as quick as he came. Ciel blinked, shaking his head as he cleared the static and smell of lavender from his head.

“I just saw someone,” Ciel mumbled.

“One of the men we're after?” Sebastian asked.

Ciel nodded. The smell of oil was making him sick, his knees weak. Sebastian glanced out the window again, and then back at the boy.

“He saw me too,” Ciel added.

He stepped backwards, boot shifting the glass against the floor. The way the hunter stared at him didn't put him at ease, and with shaking fingers he paid for the oil he had broken. Ciel didn't know what it meant to have seen the man.

He didn't feel sure of anything at all.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

“What’s it say?”

Outside the sheriff’s office was a wall of posters. Some had faces, others descriptions. Ciel looked through them, the hairs on his arms raised as he looked for the man he had seen through the window.

“I don’t know,” Sebastian huffed, letting go of the poster he’d been reading.

It was a long description but the bounty hunter had given it one look before squaring his jaw in frustration.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Ciel asked, looking away from the crudely drawn faces.

The wanted posters flapped in the breeze, dog-eared and yellowed.

“I don’t read,” Sebastian mentioned, flicking his sight down to the floorboards.

Ciel’s eye widened.

“You don’t read,” Ciel repeated back to him, “or you _can’t_ read?”

Sebastian’s lip curled, a fire flickering behind his eyes that made Ciel regret the tone he’d used. He took a step back as the man crossed his arms over his chest, muscles strained against the material of his shirt. He didn’t answer, so Ciel ripped a poster from it’s nail and handed it to him.

“Do you know what this says?” The heir asked, curious.

It was like waving a red flag at a bull. Sebastian snatched the paper out of his hand, teeth bared. He glanced down at it and snorted, crumpling the paper in his hand and shoving it back just as rudely as it had been received.

“I know what _wanted_ means,” he growled. “I ain’t stupid.”

Ciel frowned at the poster and tried to smooth it out with his thumb. He propped it against the wall and fished a lead pencil from the pocket in his vest. He scribbled out one word, as elegantly as he could with the wood grain distorting the paper, and passed it back to Sebastian.

“What’s this say?” Ciel asked.

He swallowed, watching carmine eyes stare down at the paper. He was playing with fire, but his curiosity burned hotter.

“I don’t know.”

“It’s your name,” Ciel told him.

He shifted his weight to one leg and the man stared back at the cursive word.

“No it ain’t,” he muttered, reading it over and over like he couldn’t make sense of it.

Something heavy weighed upon Ciel’s heart, and he supposed it might have been pity had he had an inkling of sympathy for the man.

“Wipe that look off your fucking face,” Sebastian growled, ripping his eyes from the paper. He crumpled the poster up into a ball and threw it on the ground. “We ain’t all had silver spoons forced down our throats the day we were born.”

Ciel’s cheeks flushed florid and he raised his chin up high. It was difficult to look down at a man who was six feet tall, but he gave it his best shot.

“I ain’t spoilt,” Ciel argued.

The words made Sebastian madder. He shook his head, like he couldn’t believe how conceited the heir was. He laughed, but there was no happiness to it.

“I bet your daddy spoilt you _rotten_ ,” he accused, hate seething through his teeth. “The only thing my daddy taught me was how to keep my mouth shut.”

Against Ciel’s better judgement, he snorted.

“I don’t think he did a good enough job,” Ciel sneered. “Just when I think I can tolerate you, you go and open your stupid, _miscreant_ mouth and I -”

There was a loud _crack_ as Sebastian’s fist hit the wall by Ciel’s head.

The wood splintered a whisper from his ear. His eye was wide, mouth half open as he came to terms the man had gone to hit him with all the force it took to leave a hole in the wall.

“I’d stop talking if I were you,” Sebastian hissed.

His forearm was tense. He was shaking. His jaw locked, eyes narrowed. A lock of hair fell between his eyes and he rolled his shoulder, jerking back his fist so rough Ciel jumped. Fragments of wood fell to the floor in his wake, and Ciel’s breath caught in his throat when he saw the blood.

“S-Sebastian,” Ciel muttered, unable to look away.

The bounty hunter’s fist was chipped with white paint, and bust across the knuckles. Blood was trickling down his trembling hand and winding it’s way around his wrist.

“I could have done that to your head,” he threatened, grabbing his injured hand with his good one.

Ciel glanced to the side at the dint in the wall. Sebastian flexed his fingers like he couldn’t feel it. If it weren’t for the tremor in his voice, Ciel might have believed he hadn’t.

“If you _ever_ do that again,” Ciel warned, breathing so heavy his vision blurred.

He didn’t need to finish as the bounty hunter was looking at him cruel enough to boil his blood. When the boy exhaled, he shivered. Sebastian watched it happen, blood now down to his forearm.

His humid breath hit Ciel’s nose as he stepped in. Close enough to make Ciel press into the wall. Like a bully, and the teenager was embarrassed by how easily he were intimidated. He closed his eye and inhaled, willing his hands to unfurl from the anxious fists they’d created when Sebastian had struck. In each palm were four crescent shaped wounds.

Sebastian stalked off. Ciel watched him go, inhaling. He swallowed his fear, and composed himself once more. Just like a Phantomhive was expected to.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

The valley were an impressive silhouette across the blue sky, but Ciel was too tense to enjoy it.

They were on another stakeout, this time in the high noon. Rabbit was sweaty between his thighs, and even the broad rim of his hat was not enough to keep the sun off him. A bead of sweat dripped down Ciel’s forehead and along the bridge of his nose.

They made camp outside Credence. On the horizon three mesa stood proud in the desert, red and carved with the weight of a thousand years. The vivid colour flared as the sun sunk to the horizon, and Ciel’s heart caught in his chest. He near looked to Sebastian to see if he were as awe-struck by the view as he, but then he remembered his fist. The white bandage in his peripheral was enough to keep his mouth shut and his head forward.

One of the posters had described a man like the one Ciel had seen. There was no drawing, but Ciel was sure it was him. His suspicions were confirmed when he found the descriptions of his posse too, and two of the men matched the description of others Ciel had seen that night.

According to the sheriff of Credence, Clancy Fleming, Jorge Hernández, and Charlie O’Callaghan were all camped at the foot of the broadest mesa.

As they waited for the sun to set, Sebastian took apart and cleaned his guns. He kept his eyes lowered to the task and Ciel stared at him a moment, watching the downward slope of his black eyelashes. Then he escaped into the cool of his tent, drawing the canvas closed behind him.

Ciel removed his sweat-damp shirt and unfolded a clean one. He took off his eyepatch and wiped the heat away from his scar. He combed his hair into a ponytail.

Lastly he untied the little parcel he had purchased in Aurora Pass. The black garment was enough to have Ciel blush merely on touch. It was silk and lace. He rubbed the material, heart skipping a beat in his excitement. Something warm pooled in his gut as he undressed.

The lower half of the garment had two bands for each leg, one around his mid-thigh, and the other sitting snug in the crease of his hip. The delicate straps binding each band ran up the side of his legs, connecting to a larger loop around his stomach. It sat snug to his navel, and he shivered as his finger traced the slight dig of the fabric to his flesh.

The upper half continued from the loop on his stomach, criss-crossing once around his ribs until the straps looped over his shoulders. Once in place he felt hugged, snug within the confines of the delicate costume. He felt beautiful, and terrifying. He felt immensely powerful.

Most importantly, he felt ready for blood.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian was pissed off, and it showed in his work.

The deaths of Clancy Fleming’s posse lacked finesse, and looked more like a butchering than an assassination. As Ciel watched another man fall dead, gore sprayed out the back of his head, he had difficulty believing Sebastian was put on this earth to do anything other than spill blood.

The man lay dead by the fire. The setting sun made his blood shine bright, the smell of it startling their horses. His face had been blown out by Sebastian’s rifle, an impressive shot he took from a fair distance. Seemingly rewarding himself, the bounty hunter ducked down and pried the whiskey bottle from his cold, dead hand, and took a drink from it.

The rest of the men were caught unaware, and Sebastian soon had them bound and on their backs, with a nasty blow to each of their heads. Ciel hadn’t recognised the first man, but these two he knew. Jorge Hernández and Charlie O’Callaghan were bound side by side in a poor imitation of the way Ciel had laid with his brother than fateful night. He felt strange glee at the way their eyes widened at the sight of him, but something was off.

“Where’s Fleming?” Ciel asked, placing his boot on Charlie’s chest.

He pressed down enough to make him grunt, heel grinding against the rope that kept him pinned.

“Clancy ain’t here,” Charlie hissed, writhing under him.

His eyes were filled with hate and it made Ciel’s mouth quirk up. There was nothing he could do, trapped under Ciel’s shoe like the rodent he was. He could feel the black harness press into his skin as he moved, and it fuelled him.

“He warned us you would come,” Jorge coughed. There was blood on his lip, proof of the animal way Sebastian had detained him. “Heard what you did to Delgado, told us to watch out.”

Sebastian glanced at Ciel, and Ciel laughed.

“You should have listened to him,” the heir smiled, stepping over Jorge.

The man was unremarkable in every way, and he squirmed backwards in the sand to escape the boy’s prowl. Ciel could remember the colour of the shirt he wore that night, the sound of his voice as he’d taken his fill. The memory had Ciel clench his teeth, had him follow Jorge through the sand as the man panicked, kicking the sand in desperation to escape.

“Shoot him in the leg,” Sebastian said, voice wet with whiskey. “So he ain’t as wriggly.”

Ciel stalked Jorge like a cat. Now the man was whimpering, tears and snot trailing down his cheek, collecting sand. It was just the two of them now, Sebastian keeping watch of Charlie as Ciel played with his food.

“I’ll kill him how I see fit,” Ciel hissed back without looking at him.

Jorge sobbed, pulling at the binding on his wrists so hard he tore his skin.

“I’m giving you advice,” Sebastian grunted.

Ciel heard the bottle glug as he upended it, and his nose crinkled in disgust. He stepped down hard on Jorge’s chest, ending their game. He glanced over his shoulder and looked the bounty hunter up and down with a glare so cold the desert night paled in comparison.

“Ain’t taking no advice from someone who can’t spell his own name,” Ciel seethed.

He watched as Sebastian brisked up, his eyes widening for a second. Satisfied, the heir sunk down onto Jorge’s chest, pulling his blade free from it’s sheath.

"Who contracted you?" He asked, turning the blade to catch the light.

Jorge sniffled, shaking his head. He opened his mouth to speak but could only blubber. Sebastian snorted, and when Ciel turned back to look at him the hunter only took another long swig of liquor.

" _I said_ who contracted you! Who are you working for?!"

Jorge flailed, even twisted to stare pathetically at Sebastian. The sight disgusted Ciel, and he pressed a kiss to the handle of his knife.

"Keep your secrets then," he muttered. "This is for my brother."

He plunged the blade into Jorge’s chest with little fanfare, eager to give the featureless man a featureless death. This time he forced the knife all the way into his chest, stabbing him through the heart. Jorge’s back arched up off the sand, mouth open in a gurgling, choking scream. It made Ciel grin, twisting the handle so his blood bubbled up out of his flesh and pooled in the sand.

Jorge’s boots kicked out as Ciel watched him die, riding the violent jerk of his body as he writhed between the heir’s legs. For good measure he yanked the blade out of his chest, a thick band of blood hitting his neck and collarbone. It dripped into his shirt, and the boy quivered, before driving the blade in again.

Sebastian barked out a cruel laugh from the darkness, his disgust doing little to distract Ciel from the task at hand. As the stars began to come out, the boy watched the last of the light fade from Jorge Hernández’s eyes, and felt a heavy satisfaction settle in his gut.

“You’re demented,” the bounty hunter said to his back.

Charlie O’Callaghan tried to talk, but was cut off with a sharp, pained yelp - like Sebastian had kicked him in the ribs.

“You keep leaving messes like this and you’ll make a bad name for yourself.”

Ciel stood, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. He didn’t bother to re-holster his knife, stepping off of Jorge’s body as he turned back to Charlie and Sebastian.

“Worse than the one I have now?” Ciel asked, coming back to the fire.

He could feel excitement in every fibre of his body, blood racing from his heart to his fingers, to the blade in his fist. Charlie was glaring at him as he approached, his face damp with sweat, and blood caked into his fine hair.

“You ain’t the crying little _bitch_ I remember,” Charlie grit, voice thick with spit.

Ciel stood over him, aware this his face was smeared with his colleague’s blood. He grabbed a fistful of his shirt and yanked it free from his belt, wiping the mess from his face and throat. Charlie glared. Sebastian bristled in his peripheral.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” The bounty hunter hissed.

Ciel glanced up, and saw the man seething, glaring at his navel. The heir glanced down and saw his silk, black harness exposed and glossy in the fire light. Ciel traced his fingers over it, and squared his jaw.

“This?” He asked in faux innocence.

He removed the rest of his shirt, soiled in blood, and dropped it in the sand. The night air was cool on his shoulders and chest, but his entirety ran hot with adrenaline. He didn’t care what Sebastian thought. He only cared about how good it felt to have blood on his skin again. He loved it. He could bathe in it if he had to. He could drink it like the bounty hunter drank his whiskey.

“You’re sick,” Sebastian muttered, still glaring at the harness. “I _swear_ I’m gon’ kill you one day.”

Charlie hiccuped in the dirt, sneering so Ciel could see his blood-stained teeth.

“Why don’t you kill the bitch right now,” the outlaw goaded.

Ciel ignored him, squatting down beside Charlie so they could see eye to eye.

"Who contracted you?" Ciel whispered.

Charlie narrowed his eyes and leaned in. His acrid breath hit Ciel's face and the heir blinked the smell away.

"Suck my cock," he muttered.

Ciel released a short breath and sat back on his haunches. He watched as Charlie snickered, laughing so hard he choked. The heir's blood ran hot and he rolled his head back to look at his drunken bounty hunter.

"Sebastian," he said.

The man wiped the back of his mouth and came closer. Ciel could tell he was upset. Angry.

 _Good_.

"Kill him."

The hunter blinked. Then he turned his eyes to Charlie. The man seemed less amused now, the sight of Sebastian Michaelis towering over him enough to quell his laughter.

"How?"

Ciel pressed his tongue into the side of his cheek. The blood on his chest was beginning to dry. He felt sticky and tired.

"I don't care," he said. "Do something nasty. Like a beast."

The corner of Sebastian's mouth quirked and Ciel stood. The bounty hunter finished his drink and shot the heir a lingering stare. He turned the empty bottle in his fist and flipped it once to grasp the neck.

"Like a beast," he echoed back, still glaring at Ciel.

The boy refused to flinch when the hunter clubbed Charlie O'Callaghan's skull in with the glass bottle. He beat him over and over, fresh blood spraying on both their faces. It seeped into Ciel's skin, warm and comforting.

The heir stared down at the deformed body and felt no remorse. He laughed at his lack of emotion, wondering at what point he'd ceased to feel at all.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

If Sebastian could stare a hole right through Ciel’s head, he would.

He could still see that _thing_. The silky, feminine harness the Phantomhive heir wore under his clothes. Even with his new, clean shirt on, Sebastian could see it. Brighter than the fire, and more irksome than the blood splattered across his boots.

Ciel was playing with the silver cross around his neck. He was staring back at Sebastian just as hard, no doubt wishing he would keel over from drinking so they could be through with each other once and for all. Sebastian lifted the whiskey bottle to his mouth, watching as Ciel’s nose twitched in irritation. He locked eyes with the kid and swallowed as much as he could.

“I didn’t hire you to get drunk,” Ciel said.

Sebastian ran his tongue over his teeth, the liquor like ashes on his tongue.

“I’m drinking so I don’t pull out my gun and shoot you,” Sebastian muttered. “Your voice is fucking annoying.”

“Ain’t like your’s is no sweeter,” Ciel drawled, that accent making Sebastian’s teeth clench.

The boy radiated displeasure, his nose twitching again. _Like a rabbit_. It made him hate the boy more. He got up, struggling not to pitch forward and land in the flames.

“Lord,” Ciel murmured, looking him up and down. “You’re three sheets to the wind.”

Sebastian rounded the fire, coming to stand over the heir. The boy swallowed, but raised his chin. The bounty hunter wanted to knock that imperious look right off his doll-like face.

“In all my born days I ain’t never met someone who pisses me off the way you do,” Sebastian hissed, reaching out to grab the side of the boy’s face.

He dug his gloved thumb into his cheek, squeezing so hard the boy opened his mouth and exposed all his little, white teeth. Their perfection annoyed Sebastian to no end, so he pressed his thumb down on the boy’s lip until he flinched in pain.

“ _God_ , I hate you,” he told the boy, and shoved him back into the dirt.

His stomach turned in delight at the _oof_ the boy made when his back hit the dirt, his jaw set as he stared up at the stars.

“My sentiments exactly!” Ciel cried, still laying there as Sebastian walked over to Diablo and snatched up his reins in one hand.

He chirked at the horse, watching him flick his ears towards the noise. He led him past the heir, bottle still in hand.

“Where are you going?” The boy said, getting up onto his hands and knees.

His face drained of colour and it pleased the man, who knew the kid hated to be alone.

“Whorehouse,” he said back.

He and Diablo paused a moment, watching the heir’s nose crinkle.

“Why?” He drawled.

Sebastian pushed his tongue into his cheek and exhaled from his nose.

“You ever had the urge to fuck something so hard you’d break it?”

Ciel’s eye widened, his lip curled. “ _No_ ,” he shot back, disgusted.

“Oh,” Sebastian said, “That’s right. You only know how it feels to be on the receiving end of that, huh?”

The look on the kid’s face made him smirk, and he turned his back on him to walk off into the night. As he started to make his way down the hill he heard the heir call out his name, echoing out over the moonlit mesas.

He ignored him, and headed into town.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Agni knew everything.

He was four years older than Sebastian, with shoulder-length white hair. He had grey eyes, spoke three languages, and he didn't eat meat. He was the most interesting person the boy had ever met.

The first time he met Agni was on the Rio Grande.

Sebastian had been playing in the mud, pants rolled over his knees. He stopped when he noticed another boy collecting water from the Texan side of the river. Sebastian stood, water rushing past his ankles, and became transfixed with the strange-looking boy across the stream. He was brown, but not Mexican. He wasn’t Native American either, Sebastian determined, narrowing his eyes to see better. And that’s when Agni noticed him, raising his hand to wave at the younger boy.

They were best friends from then on.

Agni came from India. He showed him on a map where it was, finger tracing a line from his country to America. His father was an animal doctor, and while no one in Sweetwater wanted to be Agni’s friend, his father was in constant demand. Sebastian spent all his free time there, willing to get his hands dirty if it meant being around the many animals they kept on their property.

Agni had a way of knowing things before they happened. Of reading all the minutia of Sebastian’s face and telling him what was wrong before he himself knew. Agni knew when it would rain. He knew when Sebastian was hungry. He knew where to find him when his father was in town, when the boy had to hide as far from home as possible.

Sebastian wasn’t wearing any shoes. He had dirt between his toes, and the long grass around him rustled in the wind. When Agni found him he said nothing at first, sitting beside him and plucking the fluffy seeds free of the grassy heads.

“Your father home?” He asked, staring at the river that separated their homes.

Sebastian nodded, glancing at his only friend as his hair moved in the breeze. Agni made a knowing sound, reaching out to move the young boy’s fringe. His fingers brushed over the bruise on his cheek.

“He hurt you,” he said, not a question.

Sebastian nodded again, his chin resting on his knees. Agni coaxed his head up and had a look at the bruises around the ten-year-old’s throat.

“Can you speak?” He asked.

Sebastian pressed his lips together, eyes full of tears.

“Yeah,” he said, but it hurt.

His throat felt like it were crushed, his own voice rough and foreign to him. Agni’s eyes flashed, but he brushed the boy’s hair back against his head.

“Is your mamá alright?” He asked after a second.

Sebastian’s breath hitched and quiet tears streamed down his swollen cheek and into his shirt.

“I don't know,” he sobbed.

Agni leaned across the grass, bundling him up in his arms. He went into the teenager's chest without fight, breathing in the smell of the funny soap his family used. His hand went to the back of his head, rubbing little circles that made the boy cry harder. Agni had a way with animals and humans alike. A way of coaxing all the poison from their bodies.

“Let’s go look,” said the older boy, letting go of Sebastian so he could stand.

He offered him his hand and the boy took it, wiping his eyes into the sleeve of his shirt. Agni lead him back towards his home, not letting go of his hand until they came over the hill of Sebastian’s house, far enough from the outskirts of town no one ever heard his or his mother’s cries for help.

“His horse isn’t there,” Sebastian said, staring at the house.

Agni stared too, frowning. He could always tell if something was wrong. He squeezed Sebastian’s hand and urged him over the hill, hesitant look upon his face. But Sebastian trusted him wholeheartedly, and went where he led.

“Mamá?” The boy called out, stepping into the doorway of their small house.

No one answered, and Sebastian could see the room was in disarray. Their chair was on it’s back, and a clay plate was shattered on the floor. The bed was messy, pulled apart like the scene of a battle, and Sebastian’s face crumpled at the sight.

“Her shoes aren’t here,” Agni said from the other side of the room.

He came over to the broken plate and begun collecting the pieces, dutiful as ever.

“Maybe she went to town,” Sebastian said, but as he took in the broken parts of his home it became very apparent to him something was missing.

He ducked down and looked beneath the bed, his heart pounding inside his chest.

“What is it?” Agni asked, still clutching the broken plate.

Sebastian’s skin crawled, his eyes wide as he crawled along the floor, knees scratching in the dirt. He looked under everything. In the fireplace, and the cupboard, and the boxes under their bed.

“My rabbit's gone,” he said, once he was sure.

He felt numb, fingers trembling as he sat up on his knees and met Agni’s face.

The next part he’d almost erased from his mind. Agni had gone outside, begun to search for the rabbit on the outskirts of their home. Sebastian followed, but the boy ran back to stop him, pressing him back inside the house.

“Don’t go out there,” his said to him, his face dark with anguish.

It spooked Sebastian, who began to thrash. He tried to push past. To escape. To see with his own eyes. Agni was strong, but he was small, and he slipped past him and ran around the house, heart pounding in his throat.

He could remember yelling. And blood. The smallest body curled up in the dirt, unrecognisable, before Agni grabbed him and hid his face into his chest. Sebastian screamed, the sound muffled into the teenager’s shirt. He cried as hard as he could, high-pitched and anguished, and scared, and confused, and Agni kept him there against him as he cried so hard his heart broke in half and split out of him in tears.

Sebastian stared at Ciel’s tent, ringing in his ears.

His mouth was bitter with liquor, and cigarette smoke clung to his hair. He had heard the sound as he’d come stumbling back to camp, raising the hairs on the back of his neck.

Ciel’s screaming.

It sounded like a rabbit. The horrified squeal the animal made when it knew it’s life was in danger. He had heard it so many times as a child, knew what it sounded like. The sound had stayed with him his entire life, and although his kitten had been long dead upon finding it, he could never shake the imaginary sight of it screaming before his daddy killed it. Calling out for Sebastian, again and again, to no use.

Sebastian drew back the curtain of Ciel’s tent, watching him writhing in his sleep. The heir was twisted up in the blankets, mouth open as he thrashed. His fingers reached out for something. Tears rolled down his cheek.

The sound of his cries made Sebastian sick. He wanted to hit Ciel until it stopped. Grab his throat again and wring the sounds right out of him. But something stopped him. Something dark, and miserable, and festering inside his soul.

He hated Ciel because he reminded him so much of that baby rabbit.

And for the same reason, he could not hurt him.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel had been awake for a while.

Instead of getting up he decided to sleep in, enjoying the faint sound of the fire outside his tent. He hadn't slept well last night. Sebastian's absence made his chest tight, and when he'd finally fallen asleep he'd been plagued with nightmares.

He stared up at the canvas, letting the light fall down upon his skin. The air was cool, but beneath the fur blanket he was warm and relaxed. He closed his eyes and traced a finger over his throat.

A bird chirped outside. The heir traced his collarbone next, and then the hem of his silk shirt. He shifted under the blankets and pressed his thighs together, naked bare from the silk shorts on his hips. He dropped his hand down to play with those two, fingers skirting the material as his cheeks burnt.

He felt pretty, and alive, as a cool breeze rustled the tent and coaxed pebbling from his skin. His nipples brushed against his silk shirt and he felt a tug deep in his gut. One he hadn't felt in months.

His navel suckered in as his fingers dipped under the hem of his shorts. His knees met and he drew his legs to his chest. The blankets rustled and he closed his eye, the ends of his fingers brushing the tip of his cock. His breath left him in a stuttered gasp, then he bit his lip to keep himself quiet.

“U- _uhhhh_ , hah.”

A moan left his lips as he cupped himself in his palm, arching off the floor of the tent to press into his own heat. He wrapped his hand around the thick of it, eye fluttering shut, mouth open as he sighed again. His stomach turned, heart thrummed against his chest as he jerked himself off, free hand tugging at the blankets bunched up under his fist.

But then his occupied fingers slipped lower, and lower, crooking his wrist until his finger nudged against the tight circle of his hole.

“Mmnh- _hah_.”

He traced it with the pad of his finger, his thighs clamped either side of his wrist. He curled onto his side, breathing hard into the blankets. His hair fell over his eyes, lashes fluttering as he dipped the end of his finger inside himself, quivering at the hot, tight hug of it.

His eye rolled back into his head, toes curling as he bit his lip. He pressed his finger back in, let it fuck an inch inside of himself until he was too hot under the blankets.

He had done this once before. Months ago. He’d felt as wrong and as excited as he did now, skin crawling with cold sweat, dirty coil in his stomach. He could cum like this, one finger crooked inside himself. He withdrew to spit on his fingers, but a sudden shout had him go rigid.

“If you don’t get your fucking ass out here I’ll set that tent on fire!”

Sebastian’s voice was scratchy and deep, and enough to have Ciel groan in frustration, pulling his hand free from the silk band in his shorts. He swallowed, rolling onto his back to stare at the roof of his tent, his heart still pounding in his adolescent chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please come ask me stuff on Tumblr! - It's bun-o-ween  
> Also, if you show this chapter some love, I'll update Kiss & Cry tomorrow!


	7. Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to peekaboo-desu for listening to me rant about my fears and hopes for this chapter.

The Phantomhive heir was sick.

Sebastian didn’t use the word lightly. All his life he’d been surrounded by men so evil, so destitute, that they’d redefined the word sick for him.

Sebastian had seen men rape, and kill. He'd seen them derive pleasure from suffering. Men like his father, and men he'd blown the brains out of. People called Sebastian Michaels sick, but people didn't know shit.

Sebastian spat in the dirt, and wiped his hand across his sweaty brow. Blood spattered the dirt, and the smell of it was thick in the air.

No. _Sick_ was Ciel Phantomhive.

Every inch of the eighteen-year-old's shirt was covered in blood. It dripped down his throat and collected in the ends of his hair. It painted his mouth like a bodega whore, and seeped into the earth like rain.

“You ought to stop making a mess,” Sebastian said, watching a thin spray of blood spurt half-heartedly from the dying man’s throat. Ciel looked up at him and raised an eyebrow.

“This is nothing,” he drawled, wiping his hand across his bloody face. He got up, cleaning his blade on his trousers. When the sunlight hit the heir just right, Sebastian could see his strappy harness under his shirt.

_Sick, little freak._

Ciel stepped over to his final victim, tied up and groaning against a makeshift gag. Often Sebastian felt like his only profession was tying men up for Ciel Phantomhive to butcher. With an indignant grunt, he figured he’d done worse things for money.

“Do you know what they did to my brother?” Ciel asked, settling down on the bound man’s chest. Sebastian shook his head, watching a drop of blood roll down his nose. Ciel seemed to relish in the murder. As if the blood reminded him of his past, reassured him that what he was doing was justified and not demented.

Sebastian reasoned it was both.

“They gut him,” Ciel said with little fanfare. He raised his knife and kissed the blade like he did each time. His victim cried out, boots scuffling over the earth.

“For a thousand dollars,” he continued, untucking the man’s shirt until his belly was exposed. “There was a thousand dollars in our safe, and my brother swallowed the key. They gut him for a grand.”

Ciel looked at the bounty hunter, void of emotion beside the slight tremor in his hand. The man under him, Gerado Gómez, thrashed in terror.

“I can’t think of a worse way to die,” Sebastian replied, partly because it was true. But mostly because he wanted to see Ciel’s porcelain face crack. The boy's nose twitched, and then with horrible delight, Sebastian watched his lower lip shake, and tears well up against his eyelashes.

Sebastian watched him swallow, following the movement down his throat to the crucifix hung around it. He wasn’t sure why he enjoyed seeing Ciel lose it. Perhaps it reassured him, knowing someone out there was more damaged than himself.

Perhaps, he just liked to hurt him.

Ciel’s knife came down and buried itself in the man’s stomach. He twisted his dainty wrist, slid the blade across quick and precise, using both hands to cut a gash several inches long in the man’s abdomen.

Gerado howled, a horrible noise.

The boy was like a young cat. Too young to know how to hunt without making a mess of things. Sebastian rubbed at his eyes, stifling a yawn. The nightmares had kept him awake for days in arow, eternally haunted each night he suffered Ciel’s shrill, midnight screaming.

He watched, _bored_ , as the blood-covered prince rose up on his knees and stared at the coagulated mess across his thighs. Gerado wasn’t dead but was on his way there. He was choking on blood, a sound Sebastian was thankful to have avoided most of his life. It was disturbing, and seemed to irk the young boy. When he spoke, his voice was soft.

“Sebastian?”

 _Too_ soft.

“What, creep?”

Ciel dropped his knife by Gerardo’s body, and took several steps forward. His face was bone white beneath all the blood, his eye half-lidded and glassy.

“I don’t... feel so peachy,” he mumbled, blinking in slow motion. Sebastian felt annoyance rake at his skin, and he strode forward to catch the heir as he fainted, predictably, into his arms.

If tying men up were his main profession, this were his second.

Ciel was a deadweight against his chest, mouth slightly parted and head rolled back over Sebastian’s arm. Sebastian hitched him up against his body, sneering at the gore on the kid's face.

“It ain’t my job to catch you,” Sebastian hissed at his sleeping face. He throttled Ciel to see if he would wake, but only succeeded in displacing his hair. The bounty hunter dragged him to a patch of grass, lowering him down much more than gentle than he would have liked to.

“You should be grateful,” he muttered at him, crouching over his limp form. “I coulda let you faint on your face. Crack this nose in half.”

He reached out and pressed the feminine curve of Ciel’s nose, baring his teeth. Even passed out, soaked in blood, the boy looked stupidly elegant.

A moment later, Ciel came to with a gasp.

“Did he die?” The heir slurred, sitting up on his elbows like the fainting didn’t bother him a bit.

Sebastian glanced at Gerado, a corpse now. Around him were the bodies of his gang, all butchered and dead with their eyes wide open.

They’d gotten lucky.

In search for Clancy Fleming, they’d happened upon men that knew of his location. Coincidentally, men on Ciel’s hit list too.

With their dying breath one of Gerado's men had panicked, admitted Fleming was laying low in a town called Heaven, two days ride from the camp. The last he'd heard Fleming had taken up near a local whorehouse, and was squandering his days drinking, gambling, and doing what men did best.

Apparently, Fleming knew his days were numbered. Looking around the blood-drenched camp, Sebastian didn't blame him.

“I’m telling you heiress. You gotta stop making such a mess of things. You’re gon’ piss someone off, and get yourself kidnapped again.”

Ciel’s nose twitched.

“I ain’t see a way of getting my revenge without pissing someone off,” he retorted. Sebastian grit his jaw so he wouldn’t strangle the young man again.

“The closer you get to the head of the snake - the worse,” he warned. “You better hope none of these boys run off and tell their boss about you _before_ we track him down.”

Ciel snorted, like in all his eighteen years he’d managed to accumulate more knowledge on hunting and killing men than Sebastian ever had. His arrogant laugh had Sebastian ball his fist tight, ready to knock a few little, white teeth out of the boy's skull.

“I _want_ him to find me!” Ciel declared, wiping his sleeve on his face. The blood was beginning to dry, sticking to everything he touched. “I want the snake to come to me.”

Sebastian grit his teeth so hard he heard it.

“Trust me,” Sebastian muttered, pointing a finger at Ciel’s chest. “Ain’t neither of us want that.”

Ciel shot back a look so cold it would curdle a lesser man’s blood.

“You don’t know what I want,” the boy seethed, eye a vibrant shade of blue against the blood. The delicate colour didn't match the cruel way he bared his teeth. Sebastian huffed, and shoved him backwards into the dirt so he no longer had to look.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel hated to admit it, but Sebastian were an excellent cook.

It didn’t suit him, to be able to do something so delicate. It also didn't suit that the man couldn’t read, or didn’t eat meat. Sebastian Michaelis didn’t fit what Ciel expected of a killer, and the fact annoyed him.

Sebastian had made peach... _something_. Stew, maybe. It was warm, and savoury, and tarty from the jarred fruit the bounty hunter had added. It was the best thing he'd eaten since leaving home, and it took every ounce of effort for the young heir to not beg for a second serving.

He read instead, a donated book he'd found in the last town, licking peach remnants off the corner of his mouth. He angled the pages towards the fire so he could concentrate on the little words. Sebastian seemed to be doing the same thing, only with his rifle in place of a book.

“The fuck are you doing?” The man said after a while, not raising his head from where he cleaned his gun.

“Reading. It’s something literate people like to do.”

Ciel couldn’t help his rude reply. It was knee-jerk. Conditioned. He waited for the nasty snarl, the narrowed eyes. Sebastian glanced up, and looked confused.

“What’s that mean?”

Ciel shook his head, cheeks burning with shame and the proximity of the fire.

“Nothing,” he lied, and turned back to his book.

It was awfully quiet. Nothing but the sound of the fire, and Rabbit’s footsteps, and the occasional _clink_ of Sebastian dismantling and polishing his rifle. Ciel mouthed the words to fill the silence, not realising he was speaking aloud until Sebastian called him out on it.

“You say words funny,” he commented, shooting Ciel a look. The boy glared back, sentence dead on his tongue.

“I don’t recall asking for your commentary,” he muttered, raising his book up higher to disguise the embarrassment on his face. Sebastian made a sound in his throat.

“I ain’t tell you to _stop_.”

Ciel lowered the book again.

“You were listening?” He asked, strangely soft. Sebastian shrugged, still playing with his gun.

“Sorta,” he admitted. “I couldn’t make sense of it.”

Ciel looked down at the words on the page, and then back up at the man. Once again, something didn’t sit right with the boy. He wanted Sebastian to be cruel. To be stupid. It made it easier to hate the man.

Ciel couldn’t reason with himself why he thought it necessary to hate Sebastian, though.

“It's about a man who makes a deal with a devil,” Ciel explained. “It’s actually… _very_ boring. But I like the part about Helen of Troy.”

“The fuck is Helen of Troy?” Sebastian asked, drawing out his vowels in that odd accent again. Ciel clicked his teeth at his lewd language, but cleared his throat. He waited until the man raised his head to look at him, and read aloud a passage from the page he were on.

“Was this the face that launched a thousand ships,  
And burnt the topless towers of Ilium,  
Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss.”

Ciel paused to add “and then he kisses her.”

Sebastian huffed.

“Her lips suck forth my soul, see, where it flies,  
Come, Helen, come, give me my soul again.  
Here will I dwell, for heaven is in these lips...”

In the absence of his own voice, the camp seemed quieter. Sebastian had stopped cleaning his gun to listen, and he looked up again when he realised Ciel had finished. He searched his face a bit, then shrugged his hunched shoulders again.

“I don’t understand a lick of it,” he confessed.

Ciel closed the book and hugged it to his chest, feeling strangely vulnerable after reading out loud in the dark.

“It means she was so beautiful men went to war for her,” he explained, squeezing the cover. “They _died_ for her.”

Sebastian made an unimpressed noise, raising his rifle to his shoulder so he could look down the length of it. Ciel could feel his heart pounding against the cover, unable to shrug the raw emotion the words had tugged from him.

“Ain’t no one that beautiful,” Sebastian said, and mimicked pulling the trigger at the fire, face hardened with business.

Ciel pressed his lips together, and stared at the crumbling ashes.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

They reached Heaven two days after killing Gerado Gómez.

As the two men rode into town Sebastian heard the heiress draw in a breath at it's beauty. The boy stared transfixed the white-washed buildings against the startling scenery of orange dirt and blue sky. He let his head fall back onto his shoulders to smell the flowers in the breeze.

Sebastian screwed up his nose at them.

Bundles of flowers spilled off windowsills and poked between picket fences. Hanging baskets of ferns and speckles of minuscule daisies popped up between houses, swaying under the shade of broad trees, heads bobbing in the wind. Ciel pointed them out, face bright.

Sebastian stared directly ahead and ignored the many, useless facts Ciel sprouted about the plant life.

When they stopped at the trading post, Ciel bundled all his impressive hair into a knot on the top of his head. He fanned at his face with his broad-brimmed hat and huffed.

“I ain't never felt heat like this before,” he complained, shooting Sebastian a look as if he could control the weather. Sebastian dismounted Diablo, tying him to a post. Ciel came down too, face pink.

“I thought the South was hot,” Sebastian said, thankful the heir was talking about anything other than the flowers. He listened to Diablo take a long, sloppy drink from the trough before him, and Ciel shrugged.

“It's more of a wet heat,” the boy drawled. He always sounded as if talking took too much effort, put emphasis on drawing out his words as long as possible, like pulling a dipper free from a honey jar.

They walked together up the road, past residents who looked as pretty and done-up as the town did. Laughter echoed out the buildings, pianola music drifted down the street to meet them. When Sebastian stopped outside a double-story, white-walled establishment (adorned with trillions of white roses), Ciel stared up at it in awe.

“This is a brothel?” He breathed.

“A fancy one,” Sebastian grit, following Ciel up the stairs. The heir stopped and read a hand painted sign by the door, raising an eyebrow.

“Emporium of Exotic Women _and_ Liquor,” Ciel laughed, shooting Sebastian a look. “Come here often, then?”

The bounty hunter blew air out between his teeth and turned to look out at the street.

“I’m banned.”

Ciel snorted.

“I don’t know why I’m surprised,” he teased, arrogance thick on his voice. “What did you do?”

Sebastian refused to speak about it, squaring his shoulders as he watched men and women pass by at a leisurely pace. It was cooler under the porch but still stifling hot. Sweat collected around his collar, and the young man’s voice seemed doubly grating.

“I’m sure you’ll find out,” he mumbled, pressing his tongue into his cheek. “Now hurry up and go ask about Fleming. I ain’t standing out in this sun all day.”

He sensed the teenager burr up behind him.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Ciel warned, playfulness gone from his voice.

“Move your ass or I’ll leave without you,” he hissed back just as quick. He shot Ciel a look and saw him standing with his hands on his hips, grey strands falling loose from his bun.

“Go ahead,” dared the heiress, little smirk on his mouth like he could sense he’d already won. Sebastian swallowed, knowing he had no choice but to stay. He could not leave. He couldn't do shit. Not without risking losing more money. The boy had a leash around Sebastian’s neck, and he held it with his pinkie finger.

Ciel smiled slowly, then went inside. Sebastian could do nothing but wait like a pet.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Inside was just as lovely.

Ciel felt as if he’d stepped out of the desert and back into Clementine. Wicker furniture filled the floor, glass-top tables with bowls of abundant flowers on each. Roses spilled out of everything, wrapped around the pillars and the staircase, and the dulcet miasma of them masked the smell of horses outside.

The pianola came from upstairs, echoed down to the polished floor and airy room. Ciel was alone, and as it was barely midday the heir figured Fleming would not come around for hours.

He stepped closer to the bar and was faced with an impressive wall of liquor. Behind the bottles were a mirror, and Ciel stared back at his flustered cheeks. It was clear he had spent several weeks on the road, and as Ciel busied himself with smoothing all his hair back into place, he realised he was not the only person in the whorehouse after all.

“My word,” came a deep voice, followed by an equally low whistle. “You’re even prettier than the rumours let on.”

Ciel turned to see a bartender, who was polishing a glass on the far end of the counter. He was devilishly handsome - the type of good-looking that had Ciel weak in the knees. The man gave a roughish smile, threatening to melt Ciel like butter, playful blue eyes appraising the young heir.

He was a blonde, too.

“I beg your pardon?” Ciel asked. The man only grinned again, putting down the glass to lay both hands flat on the counter. He was dressed sharply, his vest hugging his narrow waist, only making his wide shoulders seem broader.

“You’re the Phantom Darling, right?” The blonde asked, looking Ciel up and down. “Can’t be too many one-eyed, long-haired, drop dead _gorgeous_ Southern boys running around these parts.”

If Ciel had been blushing before, now he were burning. His lack of reply, or perhaps the colour in his face, made the bartender chuckle. The sound drew Ciel closer, moth to a flame.

“You don’t know?” The blonde chided. “That’s what they’re calling you, amongst other things. You’re some what of a legend around here.”

Ciel pressed his lips together. The blonde reached out his hand, and when Ciel placed his own upon it, he drew it up to his lips and kissed the back of the heir’s knuckles.

“I’m Bard,” he introduced, looking up through fair eyelashes. “I own the bar and the brothel. Can I get you a drink, dove?”

He winked, and Ciel reclaimed his hand, heart hammering. Every word out Bard’s mouth was spun sugar. Sticky, and impossibly sweet. He nodded eventually, and the other smirked at how easy it were to get Ciel’s dander up.

“I suppose there’s no need to introduce myself then,” Ciel said, cupping his hand to his chest. Bard turned to pluck a bottle off the shelf and began to make a drink, his biceps shifting under the fabric of his shirt.

“You are most correct, Ciel.” He looked up again and nudged his chin at something behind the heir. “Also, your dog outside was a dead giveaway.”

Ciel’s mouth formed an o-shape as he turned to see Sebastian pacing up and down the rose-laced porch.

“He said he couldn’t come in,” Ciel told the blonde, watching the man’s head jerk up like he knew they were speaking about him. All the windows to the bar were open, so it was possible he did. Ciel turned his back on him, preferring to waste his time gazing at the incredibly attractive blonde.

“Oh, he can come in,” Bard said in a seemingly pleasant tone, “but I’ll shoot a hole through his chest if he does. Your dog has aggression issues.”

Ciel hummed as if to say _don’t I know it_.

“What did he do?”

Bard placed a glass of honey-coloured liquid on the bar between himself and Ciel. It was loaded with ice, and a sprig of mint sat atop it all. The blonde hadn’t bothered to ask what he wanted - but the gesture was enough to make Ciel swoon a little more. When the heir took a sip, his eye lidded at the sharp lick of bourbon to his tongue.

“Last spring he threw one of my whores into a mirror,” Bard explained. “Had lacerations all over her back, and a necklace of bruises for weeks. He’s lucky I didn’t kill him on the spot. Ain’t that right Michaelis?”

He raised his voice so the bounty hunter would hear him. Ciel turned around to watch Sebastian quit pacing, and his entire body bristled. There was a loud bang as he thumped the wall outside.

“Fuck you, Delacroix!” The man barked back.

Bard snorted. He still wore that self-assured smile, albeit his eyes narrowing in anger. Ciel couldn’t take his sights off Bard as he took another long, long sip, the mint julep melting on his tongue.

“Sweet enough for you?” Bard asked him, still eying the bounty hunter outside. Ciel nodded. It was heaven, and his body sunk against the counter. He hadn’t felt so spoilt since before… He blinked at the bartender, and shook his head to dispel the unpleasant memories.

“Good. I know how you Southern things like it sweet. I have a whore upstairs from Louisiana, is that where you’re from?”

“Yes sir,” Ciel drawled, sucking on a cube of ice. Condensation from his glass running down his wrist. When the breeze hit the wet skin, he sighed. This town, this _bar_ , was living up to its name. Bard was still giving him that all-consuming look, and it ate Ciel from the inside out.

“I assume you’re here about Clancy Fleming,” Bard said, pulling Ciel from his daydream. The heir nodded. He’d forgotten all about why he’d come here. He’d been spell-bound by blue eyes and thick forearms.

“Yes,” he confirmed. “I’m here to kill him.”

For once, Bard didn’t smile.

“He’d been staying across the street for almost a week,” Bard explained, lowering his voice. “He spends a small fortune on drinks every night, and buys out a new whore when he’s done. I got the impression he was not a good man, but I turned a blind eye because he’s an excellent customer. If you kill him, you’ll be putting me out of pocket.”

Ciel narrowed his eye at the man’s silver tongue.

“He’s a rapist and a thief. A murderer, too. I can compensate you double what you’ll loose,” Ciel said, not afraid to throw money at a problem. His words had the smile on Bard’s face reappear, and he folded his arms over the bar to hear out the younger man’s bargain.

“Double?” The blonde huffed, raising his eyebrows. “Tell you what, dove. Keep your money. I’ll let you do anything you like to my best customer if you just give me a kiss.”

Outside, Sebastian cleared his throat. _Loudly_.

“I’d rather give you the money,” Ciel lied, heart skipping a beat as the blonde stared him down. He was tall enough to lean over the counter and come close enough to breathe on the heir, nose nudging the side of his bundled hair. He could feel Sebastian staring, two carmine holes drilled into his spine.

Ciel wet his mouth, Bard’s cologne making his mouth dry. “Do we have a deal, or don’t we”

When Bard laughed again, his breath drew the hairs up on Ciel’s nape. He pulled back to look Ciel in the eye, his cheek brushing over the boy’s. Ciel shivered as stubble grazed his jaw.

“I love a man that means business,” Bard conceded, still close enough to be uncouth. “You pay me for a week’s lost wages, and you can have Clancy Fleming on a silver platter.”

He held out his hand, but Ciel didn’t shake it.

“And you’ll let me borrow a dress from one of your prostitutes,” Ciel added, clenching his jaw to try bide the blush that was slowly creeping down his throat. Bard’s teeth showed when he grinned, eyes flicking down to the heir’s mouth.

“Okay,” he purred, wetting his own mouth. “But on one condition. You let me watch you change into it.”

Ciel closed his eye and tasted Bard’s breath on the back of his tongue. His skin crawled in a pretty way, his throat sticky. When he opened his lashes the man was staring down at him with a hunger he’d not reckoned with before. He suddenly felt like the flame, rather than the moth. He nodded, not breaking the intense eye contact they held between the both of them.

“It’s a deal,” Ciel whispered, and he finally shook Bard’s hand.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

“Slow down!”

Ciel hurried after Sebastian, moving as quick as he could without breaking into a run. It was too hot to move like this, but the bounty hunter had taken off the moment he’d told him of his plan. Now Ciel’s hair was falling free of it’s bun as he pushed past an innocent bystander, chest rising and falling as he struggled to keep up with the pissed off hunter.

“Sebastian, wait!” He yelled, chasing the man into a side street. The sudden lack of pedestrians made it easier to catch up, and he grabbed a fistful of the man’s shirt to stop him in his tracks. Sebastian didn’t look at him as he shrugged him off like an insect, continuing to stalk down the empty alleyway.

“Get away from me,” he warned, waving his gloved hand dismissively at the boy. Ciel’s shoulders fell and he pushed the man as hard as he could. Sebastian barely even budged.

“If you have a better idea I’d love to hear it!” He cried, exhausted from the chase, and the sun. He leaned over and braced his hands on his knees, struggling to catch his breath. The fact that he were slightly drunk did not help the situation in the slightest.

“An idea _other_ than dressing up like a whore and getting yourself killed?”

The man finally whipped around, giving Ciel a shove so rough he stumbled back and hit the paint-peeled wall behind him. Ciel narrowed his eye and stared up at the man.

“That’s not a plan,” the noirette continued. “It’s your own sick, little fantasy.”

Ciel pushed back all his loose hair with his hand and straightened his back as tall as he could manage. Staring Sebastian directly in the eye were like waving a flag at a bull, but he forced himself to face him head on.

“Like I said,” he spat. “If you have a better idea-”

“We’re gon’ wait for Fleming to come to the bar, and take care of him then,” Sebastian interrupted, shoving his finger into Ciel’s chest.

“How?” The eighteen-year-old yelled, shoving his hand off him. “You ain’t even allowed in that bar. He’ll just get away like last time - all because you couldn’t control your small, stupid, animal brain-”

He was cut off again with a smack across his face.

It left stars in his eye, his breath forced out as he hit the wall, reeling from the force of it. Before he could breathe the same hand came up and squeezed his face, fingers digging into his jaw so hard he sobbed instinctively.

“You need to learn when to shut your god damned mouth,” Sebastian seethed, leaning in close enough to breathe on Ciel. He squeezed again, forcing another squeal from him.

“You can’t treat me like this,” Ciel grit, trying to thrash out of his touch. He dug his nails into the back of Sebastian’s hand, but were thwarted by his leather glove.

“You wanna dress up like a whore?” The man muttered. “Well this is how I treat whores. If you go out tonight dressed like the stupid faggot you really are, someone’s gon’ catch you, and rape you.”

Ciel sucked in a lungful of air, glaring through his eyelashes at the man who kept him shoved against the wall.

“You spend an awful lot of time telling me what I can’t do,” Ciel hissed. “I think you’ve forgotten who owns who.”

Something dark flickered over Sebastian’s face, and when the man drew back Ciel braced himself for another smack. Instead, the bounty hunter spat on his face. He flinched as it hit his nose and cheek, mouth half-open in shock.

“I own you,” Sebastian growled down at him. His hand shifted down to Ciel’s neck, threatening to squeeze. The boy could do nothing but stare up at him, feeling sick with the knowledge he was helpless.

“This is a bad idea,” the man added, slightly calmer. “If you go back there I swear I ain’t gon’ rescue you this time. You’ll be dead meat by the morning, mark my words.”

He stared at Ciel for a long time, as if waiting for the message to sink in. Ciel stared back defiantly, raising his chin as much as he could with a hand around his neck.

“If you’re not back at the horses in five minutes, I’m leaving,” the noirette promised for the second time that day. Ciel turned his cheek and glared in the direction of the street.

“Don’t bother waiting,” Ciel told him. “I’m going through with this, and I don’t need your help.”

The hand from his neck disappeared, and the boy felt strangely alone.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

It was funny the how the same word weighed differently depending on who had said it.

When Sebastian called Ciel a whore, it stung.

He felt the impact of it like a punch, could taste disgust as the man said it, his eyes bright with hate. In no shape or form was the word a compliment to Ciel, nor a misguided effort at kindness. It was unadulterated distaste, and felt heavy inside of Ciel.

But when Bard told him he looked like a whore, it made blood pool between his legs.

The handsome blonde stood behind Ciel, hand on the small of his waist. He was supposed to be watching, _not touching_ , but at some point he’d lost control of himself. Ciel didn’t mind so much. The sight of Bard’s big, big hand on his tiny, tiny waist in the mirror in front of them had Ciel distracted.

“You look like an honest to God whore,” the man purred again, tugging Ciel back so his spine was pressed to Bard’s chest. Ciel closed his eyes and his breath hitched as Bard’s hot breath fanned out over his nape. When Ciel opened his eye again, he forced himself to stare forwards at the mirror.

He didn’t recognise himself.

His hair was curled into waves, powdered to look several shades lighter. Bard’s favourite prostitute, a flat-chested, dark skinned woman named Minnie, had pinched Ciel’s cheeks and lips to bring colour to them. A string of beads was looped tight around his throat, and the hair that didn’t disguise his eyepatch and scar was pinned back with a pretty pearl clip.

Both Minnie and Bard had been stunned when he removed his clothes. Bard, who had been nursing a glass of something on his stomach, recumbent on Minnie’s bed, had swore. A moment later there’d been a loud _crack_ as his glass fell to the floor, sending liquor out across the floorboards.

“Come work for me,” Bard had murmured, his eyes raking down Ciel’s body. All he wore were the strappy black suspenders, looped around his slender waist, and underwear that barely covered his ass.

“In the bar?” Ciel had asked, brushing his pale hair off one shoulder. Bard laughed.

“As a prostitute,” he groaned, unable to take his eyes off the boy. Ciel knew, as he watched him from the mirror. He glanced up to see Minnie give him a wry smile.

“I’m insulted,” Ciel had said.

But he wasn’t. Not really.

Bard didn’t say the words to wound him. He said them with the intention of complimenting, of making him feel good. It worked, Ciel considered, appreciating his own body in the reflection.

“C’mon, sugar. You’d make me so much money. That accent, and that mean little mouth. That plump little ass. Don’t you think, Minnie?”

“I think you ought to keep your dirty mouth to yourself,” Minnie shot back. Ciel looked up at her and couldn’t help the grin that spread over his face. She smiled back. The mint juleps made Ciel light-headed and heavy-limbed.

And now, as he stood in Bard’s arms, he were even drunker.

Minnie took up the drinking when Bard stopped, reclined back on the bed to watch the blonde tug at the strings of Ciel’s corset. It was taking forever, and Ciel realised it was because the man couldn’t keep his hands off his body. Every inch he narrowed in Ciel’s waist, he spent another ten minutes rubbing his calloused hands up and down Ciel’s bare thighs and narrow hips.

Fingers brushed over the flesh of his ass, the half peeking out from the lacy, black underwear, and sent a shiver up Ciel’s spine and short-circuited his brain. When he didn’t inch away, the blonde took it as a sign to cup the entirety of one cheek in his hand, and squeeze it with a grunt.

“Quit pawing at him,” Minnie drawled, her heeled boots criss-crossed on the brass bed frame. Bard ignored her, like he had the first several times. He pressed his nose to Ciel’s curled hair and breathed him in, tugging him back so the teenager could feel just how much he liked the sight of him.

Unlike with DeWitt, the weight of Bard’s cock hot and heavy against the back of his thigh made Ciel’s heart skip a beat. The hand on his waist pressed him closer as if to protect him, to possess him.

Ciel could not decipher whether it was the heat, or the bourbon, or his own messy teenage hormones, but for a brief moment he considered taking Bard up on his offer as his own, private whore.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

It took three more mint juleps to get Ciel down the stairs.

By then the bar was busy, and filled with guests. Ciel blended in with the rest of the whores, his dress as black as the sky outside. His waist was so narrow he could near fit his hands around it, and the dress so low cut his shoulders and clavicle were exposed.

Not low enough, however, to reveal that Ciel was not in fact a woman.

The dress made everything warmer, and Ciel could barely breathe with the corset constricting him. He took another sip of bourbon, squeezing his eyes closed to steady himself lest he faint at the most inopportune time.

Distantly, he wished Sebastian were there with him.

Fleming showed an hour later.

At first Ciel was too nervous to approach, unconvinced of his disguise, and the liquor making him shy. He stayed glued to the wall, drinking his seventh cocktail of the night. By now he were so lax, eye glassy, that when Fleming found him he could do little more than stare back. The man gazed licentious, and Ciel’s fingers brushed over the knife strapped under his skirt.

When he ordered another drink, Bard slid a glass of water across the bar. Ciel stared dumbly at it, a wavy strand of grey hair hanging between his eyes.

“Be careful dove,” the man warned, glancing up at the crowd. “You look awful pretty tonight, and I’d hate for someone to take advantage of that.”

Despite Bard’s warning, Ciel did not think twice about accepting a drink from a stranger. He also didn’t notice the odd taste to it, preoccupied with following Fleming around the room with his eye. The pianola was louder, masking the thudding in Ciel’s ears.

By the time he noticed something was wrong, Ciel could barely walk.

He stumbled out of the bar, crushing a thicket of roses as he gripped the porch fence for stability. The night air was cool but he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t keep his eyes open, either. He fumbled for the strings of his corset but they were too tight, and Ciel was too drunk.

His billowing skirts protected his knees as he fell forward on the dirt. His cheek hit the ground and he groaned, unable to even brush his fringe off his face. He managed to turn onto his back to look at the stars, and the sound of the bar seemed as if it were underwater.

When a man came to stand over him, Ciel reached for his ankle and swallowed around the odd taste in his mouth.

“I’ve been drugged,” he said weakly, tugging at the stranger’s trouser leg. The man came down on his haunches and tilted Ciel’s cheek into the moonlight, too much shadow on his face for the boy to recognise.

“I know,” the man replied, and Ciel’s heart fell. He let go of the man’s pant leg, but could not bring himself to cry out. He closed his eyes as he was hoisted up off the dirt, cupped to a chest he did not recognise.

 _Not again_ , was all Ciel could think as he slipped into a dreamless slumber.

……………………………………………………………………………

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me on Tumblr: bun-o-ween


	8. The Fleming Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Same warnings as usual. Swearing. Slurs. Loads of blood and crying!

Delacroix’s Emporium of Exotic Women and Liquor was in full swing.

The walls shook. The band spilled past the flowers on the windowsills and out onto the dusty streets. It echoed in the darkness, filled the town of Heaven with it’s brassy song. Laughter sung with sparkling glasses, silk skirts and chatter.

The bar were full to capacity, and Sebastian had the perfect view of it from his place across the street.

The hunter took another mouthful of dirt cheap whiskey. He rolled it over his tongue, the liquid rotting at his teeth like acid. He could hardly stand it - but the drink was not the hardest thing Sebastian found himself struggling to swallow.

Bard wouldn’t keep his hands off Ciel.

The blonde pawed at the kid. Reached out and wrapped both hands around his waist, pulled him over the bar and rubbed his stubble against his throat. He kissed his cheek, ignored the customers in favour of hitching up his skirt and exposing porcelain ankles.

Each time the blonde spoke the boy would turn to him, like a sunflower turning to the sun. He put on the perfect air of enrapture, pretended to hang on each word like Bard were God himself.

Ciel, who would only smile in malice - never happiness.

Ciel, who Sebastian had seen cut off the fingers of men that dared touch him.

The Ciel that Sebastian knew would never laugh at something _Bard Delacroix_ said. It was an act. An elaborate ruse to leash Clancy Fleming to his pinkie finger.

Sebastian couldn’t fathom that Ciel might actually _want_ Bard to touch him. He did not let the possibility cross his mind.

Sebastian should have turned his back and rode right out of town. He should have let Ciel carry out his plan and meet a horrible end. He’d even mounted Diablo and turned tail after their fight, besotted with the idea of leaving Ciel Phantomhive in the past.

But as he’d gone to ride out of Heaven he’d caught sight of the kid coming down the staircase of Delacroix’s Emporium. His hair was paler, his eye a striking blue as the only point of colour on his white skin and black dress.

Not for the first time, Sebastian mistook Ciel for a woman.

And the sight of him, squeezed tight into a corset to make him thinner than he already were. The way his hair fell and pooled on his bare shoulders - it boiled the bounty hunter’s blood.

Their eyes had met. Ciel had raised one eyebrow. Sebastian had dug his heel into Diablo, lowered his head and left. He swallowed his resolve and refused to think of the little rabbit his father had stomped on, left it’s body out to rot in the mid-afternoon sun.

It was that very thought that had him riding back.

Now the sun had set, and Fleming had arrived, and Ciel was still mooning over everything Bard did.

Ambivalence coiled in Sebastian’s gut. For the millionth time that night he considered getting up, walking off the porch and shooting Bard in his stupid, smug face.

The laughter of two patrons inside the bodega pulled Sebastian from his thoughts.

He flicked his eyes over to the men as they burst out of the swinging door, boots dragging on the porch. One held a bow and arrow, and for the better part of an hour Sebastian had been listening to the men argue. At first he’d found it a welcome distraction from the way Ciel blushed when Bard touched him like a whore. Now, he only found it irritating.

One of the drunks waved a quiver of arrows so carelessly they spilled out and hit the sand. In his other hand was a glass of something putrid.

“They’re one-hundred-percent authentic,” the man slurred. He kept the quiver up high enough that his companion couldn’t snatch it from him. His glass sloshed, liquor soaking the sand around the abandoned arrows.

“Bull- _shit_ ,” drawled his friend. “Ain’t nothing but a cheap knock-off.”

Sebastian watched them bicker from the brim of his hat, sinking further into his chair. He watched them dance around the empty street, pick up arrows and throw them like sticks at one another. It was both amusing and disgusting, and enough to hold the man’s attention as he finished his lip-curling drink.

When he glanced back at the Emporium, he couldn’t see Ciel.

He couldn’t hear his laughter either, the faint echo of it over and pianola and the bickering. He could see Bard at the counter, grinning at two prostitutes. The man leaned forward, scanning the crowd for the darkest shade of black, but Ciel was nowhere to be seen.

“I knew it,” Sebastian muttered to himself, a cold hand curling around his heart. The words tasted worse than the liquor.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel came to like molasses.

Finger by finger, his body woke from the toes up, eyelashes heavy like they were lead. The heir sucked in a breath and exhaled through his nose.

Something sour stung the air.

Dirt rubbed his cheek. Something wet stuck his hair to his chin. With all the effort he could muster, Ciel ran his tongue over his teeth, taste matching the smell permeating his nose.

As he blinked stars out of his eyes, Ciel heard the murmur of two men.

“ – waking up.”

“ _Shut up._ ”

A cold sweat ran down the boy's spine. Finally his hands found their function, scrambled across the earth to push himself up out of the dirt only to find his wrists were bound in front of him. Something hard hit his back, and he fell to his belly with a cry.

“Stay down, brat.”

The shuffle of boots. The nicker of stolen horses. The echo of laughter as Ciel rose to his elbows again, and the boot kicked him square in the rib cage.

“ _I said_ stay down.”

The drugs left Ciel’s head stuffed with cotton wool, his tongue too heavy for his mouth. Curling his fingers seemed to take strength from Ciel’s limbs. Even rolling onto his back, his stomach tapered inside the corset, left him breathless.

Something wet dripped down Ciel’s nose. He swiped at it, too cloudy to tell if it were blood or tears. His bound arms fell to his chest. Two figures stood over him, shadows flickering like black fire.

“Little bitch so doped up he ain’t even know where he is.”

The voice were so familiar it made Ciel sick. Clancy Fleming slapped his cheek, knocking a noise out of him.

“Y’know when I heard you were coming after us,” began Clancy, “I wasn’t scared of you. I remembered how pathetic you were that night.”

Ciel turned his head, desperate to make sense of anything past the blurry figures of Clancy and the other man.

“But when you killed my men? I thought... _Shit_. I underestimated that Phantomhive runt.”

Ciel were too drunk to hold back the sob he made. The night swallowed it up. Clancy grabbed his jaw and squeezed so rough it made another come out.

“So imagine my surprise when I see you in that whorehouse, dressed up like a fuckin’ invitation.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Ciel seethed, only capable of a whisper. It took all his might to look Clancy in the eye, the earth beneath him undulating like the ocean.

“With this?”

The voice was like Clancy’s, but not quite. Ciel bared his teeth as the other figure came into focus - another face he would never forget. Henry Fleming was holding his knife, twisting it back and forth in the midnight.

“Or this?” Clancy added, cocking the hammer of Ciel’s pistol. They both smirked, grins sharp as the stolen dagger and twice as deadly. Ciel shut his eyes and tried to smother the terrified sound that crawled right out of his belly.

“That’s what I thought,” said one of the brothers, kneeling down to get up close to Ciel’s face. He curled his lip, wondered if he could bite the end of the man’s nose if he kneeled any closer.

“Hurry up now Clancy,” said Henry. “We ain’t got long before that dog sniffs him out.”

Ciel’s breath hitched at the mention of Sebastian. Behind the men the desert was empty, and Ciel’s blood began to curdle in his veins.

Sebastian had left town. He had seen it with his own eye.

The floor dropped out of Ciel’s stomach.

“How you wanna do it?” Henry asked, still spinning Ciel’s dagger back and forth. “Should we cut his throat?”

He was unable to control the gasp that escaped him. Hopelessness ate him from the inside out.

“Cut his throat?” Clancy parroted, insulted. “He killed Hernández _and_ O’Callaghan. We ought to skin him, leave something for that half-breed to find.”

Henry strode forward and grabbed Ciel’s hair, dragging him forward so he fell face down in the dirt. It stuck to his cheek and mouth.

“Don’t neither of you misbegotten bastards lay a finger on me,” Ciel growled, voice shaking. “It’ll be the last thing you do.”

He rose up on his hands and knees, arms shaking where his wrists were bound. His face burnt with humiliation when the men laughed once more.

“Let’s start with that tongue first,” Henry snickered.

He grabbed Ciel’s jaw between his fingers and squeezed until his teeth unlocked. Pink spit dripped down Ciel’s chin. He squirmed, sucking air from his nose as the corset bunched his lungs into his chest.

“Split it down the middle,” Clancy said. They smelt of sweat, their hands covered in grease. “Like the little viper cunt he is.”

Through the haze of liquor and drugs, the likening gave Ciel an idea. He watched an opportunity present itself in the shape of Henry turning his head to address his brother.

Like a snake, Ciel lurched forward and sunk his teeth into Henry’s arm.

His blood tasted bitter hot and flooded his mouth in an instant. The man’s scream came secondary to the violent rush of red against Ciel’s teeth, jaw clamped like it were the only thing he had control over. His blade hit the dirt and Ciel let go, falling back onto his knees with a satisfied, bleeding snarl.

“Cocksucker bit me,” Henry breathed, eyes wide. He grasped his bloody arm, mouth open. When he caught Ciel’s eye, the boy ran his tongue over his mouth.

“I don’t think he wants to play no more.”

Ciel watched the blood collect down Henry’s wrist, curling to seep into the crook of his elbow. He bent down and took the blade up off the sand. Ciel shuffled backwards, his drowsy legs like a deadweight as the eldest brother came closer, and closer.

Ciel’s back hit a fallen log.

Henry Fleming reached down for him and dragged him to his feet by the thick of his hair once more. His eyes were black with hate, the hand that Ciel had bit the one that came up and fit itself around his throat.

His last thread of sanity snapped like the strands of his gossamer hair, the weight of the reality more constricting than the girdle around his stomach.

_He was going to die here._

“I wanna know something, brat.”

The strings of Ciel’s corset snapped one by one as Henry ran his knife up the back of it. The boy drew in a ragged breath, ribs filling out the cavity as the garment fell loose and to the sand.

“How long did it take your brother to die?”

Clancy’s chest pressed up against Ciel’s back. Henry raised the boy’s bound hands and looped them over his brother’s head like a necklace. The heir moaned in terror, backing up against the wall of solid flesh as Henry aimed the tip of the knife to Ciel’s navel. It pierced through the fabric and stung his flesh, bit like an insect on the skin below his belly-button.

“I bet he died a slow death,” Clancy said to Ciel’s ear. His hands squeezed the boy’s hips. His brother shifted closer until the smell of their skin was found in the back of the boy’s mouth.

“Please don’t,” Ciel uttered, eyes screwed shut. He felt a humid laugh against his throat, and the blade dipped against his navel. With a blinding, horrible pain, it sunk half an inch inside his flesh.

Ciel howled.

He cried loud enough to raise the dead. Tears dripped down his face, seeped into the neckline of his dress. His head fell, mouth open in horror at the knife that was sticking into his stomach. A dollop of blood eased out of the wound and stained the top of the skirt.

 _No no no no_.

He couldn’t thrash. Could not escape. The pain paralysed him, coaxed nausea from his gut and into his mouth. The knife dug in a little deeper, clawed another tortured scream from the teenager’s throat. Wetness dripped down his belly.

Ciel screamed like an animal. His voice broke, raw and agonised. Henry jerked the knife back and blood spilled out the wound. It pooled into the dip of Ciel’s navel, made his skin crawl, his body go ramrod straight. The pain was unimaginable, and for a moment Ciel could only lurch forward, arms still trapped over his head.

“I won’t put you through that,” Henry promised, his mouth still pressed up against Ciel’s ear. The boy couldn’t feel it. He was only aware of the sickening slide of blood between his legs.

“I’m a good man,” he promised, words like poison in his ear. “I won’t make you suffer. You’ll be dead before the sun -”

 _Thwick_.

Henry Fleming went still.

He stumbled forward against Ciel, eyes wide. He hiccuped, his whole body shuddering. His chest smothered Ciel between the brother’s bodies, his arms trapped as the man gave his whole weight to them. Henry muttered something inhuman against the heir’s ear.

Then his knees bent, and he fell sideways to the sand with a _thud_. The outlaw hit the dirt face first, an arrow protruding from the back of his head.

“H-Henry.”

Clancy’s voice was thick with terror. He tore Ciel off of him, let the boy crumple and fall down beside the slain man. The teenager curled up on his side, bound hands going to his wound.

He gagged as blood seeped past his fingers.

“Henry, _what_ -”

Another arrow came out of nowhere and pierced the dirt by Clancy’s knee. He stumbled back, face white with horror. The next second he was scrambling to his feet, disappearing into the night as fast as his feet could carry him.

Ciel watched him melt into the black, too scared to uncoil from the ball he’d worked his way into. Fresh tears ran down Ciel’s cheeks as he began to sob anew, horrified at the thought of something _worse_ than the Fleming brothers. Something stalking out of the dark, boots crunching on the dirt.

Ciel swore if he survived he would go home to Louisiana and give up his foolish plight. His heart mourned for his bed, for his butler and the Spanish moss that danced over Clementine this time of year.

He vowed that if he lived he’d admit defeat and go home to Adrian. That he’d take over his daddy’s company and never set another foot inside the west.

Ciel made promises to a god he didn’t believe in, squeezing tight the silver crucifix that his brother had always worn. Worn until his death, his only possession that didn’t burn up in the fire. Ciel kissed it with wet lips and delivered hysterical promises. He begged an absent god to wipe his tears, to sweep him off the bitter earth and take him back to his home on the Mississippi.

Ciel flinched when a glove cupped his face. The sound he made were too miserable, too pathetic, to be a scream. His eyelashes glued together, eye blind with tears. His cheek caked with dried blood, his body wet and searing from the gash against his belly.

The hand smoothed back his matted hair and lifted his head up off the dirt, and a solemn voice took place of his hummingbird-heart and sticky hiccups.

“Heiress, _stop_. It’s me.”

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel looked like a nightmare.

The dress only added to the horror, his mouth stained with blood and his lashes thick with tears. In the moonlight he looked garish with makeup, looked a sight in a dust-stained dress, with bound wrists held at an awkward place against his belly.

“Seb-b- _ah_ -”

He cut himself off with another cry, his chest surging up like the earth seared him. Sebastian gathered the stolen heir to his chest, looked over his shoulder in the direction Clancy had fled. On the dirt by his boot were the bow he’d fired. In his other hand he took back Ciel’s knife to free his hands.

The blade dripped with blood.

As soon as his hands were untied, the heir threw both arms around Sebastian’s neck. He could not remember the last time someone had hugged him and it made the hunter freeze, his hands in suspended animation above the boy.

Ciel shook like the grass. He pressed his whole body against the other man, his murmuring nonsensical and his lungs hyperventilating. His cheeks were still ruddy with liquor, and his hair smelt like something chemical and toxic. Sebastian gently placed his hands on either side of him, easing them down his ribs to seek out the wound he had heard the men cut into him from afar.

For once he’d been pleased to hear Ciel scream. Until that moment he’d been lost in a sea of black, the desert featureless until the heiress called for him - shrill cry like a lighthouse.

Sebastian’s hand shifted over a pool of blood on Ciel’s belly, and coaxed a groan from his lips. The stain was wider than his palm, and when he pulled back his glove the fingers shone with black blood.

“Sebastian,” the boy whispered into his neck, nails digging into his arms so harsh they pierced his skin. The hunter curled an arm under his back and let him rest there, staring at the sand over Ciel’s shoulder so the boy would not see how terrified he really was.

“What?”

The teenager shivered, voice like ashes as his held tilted back, mouth pale like his shaking hand.

“Don’t let go of me,” the boy asked.

Then he fainted, leaving Sebastian alone in the desert, and so far out of his depth that he choked on it.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian hated hospitals.

Even _hate_ seemed too weak a word for the way the man felt about them. He hated the smell. He hated the quiet. He hated the still bodies in stiff sheets, and the echo of voices, and the clicking of heels.

He hated the way the nurses looked at him as if he were a smear of dirt they’d missed on their polished, white and glossy floors.

He hated the way he couldn’t shake the feeling someone would swoop in and steal Ciel away the instant he closed his eyes. He hated the stale coffee and the well-worn mug he held it in, his forth of the night.

The boy was recumbent on the mattress, chest rising and falling under his nightshirt. On his collarbone was a pink scar, so small Sebastian had not recognised it before. He flicked his eyes up to where the larger one on his jaw bit into the peach-like swell of his cheek.

“Is the patient allergic to anything?”

Sebastian glanced up at the nurse and took note of the expression on her face. Her lips pursed, her hands drawn close to her chest as she scribbled notes into her palm-sized pad. Her eyes glanced down and looked at the pistol still grasped in Sebastian’s hand.

“I don’t know.”

The heir had a bruise on his cheekbone and a cut on his lip. Sebastian took note of the injuries, something eating away at his gut. The worst of the damaged tucked away beneath white sheets and white bandages, white skin tugged together with thread.

If Sebastian had hesitated an instant longer, the heir would have -

“How old is he?”

Sebastian could barely speak around the lump in his throat. He gave the nurse a look so cold she took a step backwards.

“I don’t fucking know that either.”

Something warm brushed against Sebastian’s wrist. When he looked down he saw Ciel’s pale finger trailing a path along his hand, grey lashes fluttering like moth wings as he came to.

“I’m eighteen,” he said to the hunter, voice hoarse. He wet his mouth and took a deep breath, throat dipping beneath the silver chain around his throat.

“Don’t tell _me_ ,” Sebastian hissed. He jutted his chin at the woman in white, pulling his hand back from Ciel’s. His skin itched where the boy had touched, fingers clenched around the half-cold coffee in his palm.

The boy rolled his head to face the nurse, his cheek burying into the pillow like his head weighed a tonne. The woman cast the older man a nervous look, then neared closer to the boy.

Sebastian snorted. If only the nurse knew it were the doe-eyed, pretty young boy who was the true psychopath amongst them.

“You don’t need to be scared of him,” Ciel said to her, giving the nurse a smile so charming the hunter blew air out his nose again. He took another mouthful of black coffee, letting it dissipate under his tongue.

“He isn’t as bad as he looks. He’s a vegetarian.”

Sebastian choked.

Ciel let his head roll back towards him, and an amused smile passed over his features. He pressed his fingers over his mouth but they did nothing to stifle the giggle the heir let out. Sebastian curled his lip at the noise, sending a look at the nurse.

“It’s the anaesthesia,” she explained, keeping her eyes lowered like Sebastian were a wild dog. The sight pissed him off more. That, and the eerie phenomena of Ciel smiling like he hadn’t been sobbing for his life mere hours before.

In the dark Sebastian, the black silk, and Diablo had all faded into nothingness. The nurses didn’t see them until he’d stumbled forward on the entrance, Ciel unconscious and growing paler by the second.

They stole his body out of his arms and left the man in the cold. Left him with nothing but a patch of blood drying on his shirt, and nothing to do with his hands.

“Do you know how fucking stupid you are?” Sebastian whisper-yelled the instant they were alone. He grabbed a handful of Ciel’s face and forced their eyes to meet. He leaned down close enough to mutter his angry words on the boy’s maw.

“What were you thinking? Dressing up like that, uglier than sin, and thinking no man was gon’ try take advantage. You’re lucky all you got was a few stitches! I ought to kill you myself!”

He threw Ciel back onto the pillows, uncaring of the wound on his gut. The kid was so drugged he didn't feel it anyway. In fact, his mouth curved up into something coy.

“You waited for me.”

The sentence made Sebastian jerk back like he’d been burnt, shoving himself back into the chair so hard it squeaked against the tile.

“I didn’t have no choice,” Sebastian growled. “How come every time I turn my back you get your fucking ass kidnapped?”

Ciel ran his tongue over his teeth as if to lick the medicine from his mouth. His lips smacked together and he shook his head, staring at the ceiling. The smile stayed, unwavering, like the scent of chemicals clinging to every polished surface.

“It’s the Phantomhive curse,” Ciel said, a charming gravity to his tone. He cast Sebastian a look, too awake for a boy riddled with three types of intoxication.

Sebastian wanted to smack him. Knock some teeth out of his honied, half-smiling mouth. But the sight of the heiress grinning was spooky enough to render him motionless.

“Hey.”

“What, creep?”

“Did you kill Clancy with an arrow?”

Sebastian straightened out a little, tilted his head to work a kink out of his neck. He leaned his elbows on the mattress and pressed his face into his hands, fatigue seeping into every inch of his soul.

“He needed killing,” he shrugged.

It made Ciel smile again, this time slower. His face lit up and he wriggled closer to Sebastian, like a serpent seeking out warmth. The man stiffened, edging away from the boy as he tried to encircle his wrist.

He hated snakes.

“You’re incorrigible.”

Sebastian could not tell if the heir were insulting him or not. With the way his mouth stayed curled up, and his hazy eye flickered, it could have been either.

“Oh yeah,” said the hunter. “What else?”

Ciel closed his eye to think, fingers still splayed over the mattress. Sebastian watched as pinkie eased closer to his arm, like the boy thought he were being subtle. His fingernail, the size of a raindrop, grazed the edge of his tan skin.

“You’re very tall,” Ciel uttered with his lashes shut. He said it like it were a profound thought - something he had only just discovered. If he’d opened his eye he might have caught the faint glimmer of amusement on the older man’s face.

“Everyone is taller than you, heiress.”

Ciel looked up and beamed. His expression became so unguarded Sebastian felt uncomfortable looking upon it. He lowered his head to escape the fair gaze, only to have the boy’s hand come up and touch the side of his face.

Ciel’s fingers were smooth and warm, and it were obvious he’d never worked a day in his life. They traced down the edge of Sebastian’s jaw and down to the nape of his neck. His nails scraped up into his hairline, stopping only when they reached the brim of the man’s black hat.

“Take it off,” Ciel requested.

And like a fool, Sebastian did.

His hair was damp with sweat, matted with dirt and dried blood. The length of it bundled into a makeshift knot, which fell loose when the hat came off. The very longest strands came down to his throat, and the heir twisted his fingers into it immediately. He raked his nails down his scalp until the bounty hunter lost himself for a moment and pressed into the touch.

He could not recall being touched that way in over a decade. If he thought about it too much, he could not recall being touched this way at all.

“You have long eyelashes.”

Sebastian opened them to see the boy much closer to his face. Both hands were in his hair now, sorting through the strands, pulling gently.

“Can’t do nothing ‘bout that,” he mumbled, distracted by how nice it felt when Ciel grazed behind his ear. He pressed his lips together to stifle a fond sound. One by one, the knots in his shoulders fell away.

Ciel laughed too loud. His entire face lit up, eye narrowed as his cheeks filled with radiance. It was bizarre, Ciel’s undivided, whole-hearted attention. Like a diamond, something small and precious. Like something Sebastian did not want to touch in fear of getting it dirty or breaking it.

“You’re funny too,” Ciel giggled.

No one had told Sebastian that either. Like an ill-fitting shirt, Ciel’s staring rubbed him in the wrong places and Sebastian itched to shrug it off. He sat up so quick the boy was forced to let go of him.

“Bastian?”

The contraction of his name made the floor of Sebastian’s stomach fall out. He looked down at his hands, still smeared and ugly with the blood that had seeped out of the heir’s belly. He looked up to see the smile had disappeared.

“What?”

“Do you think I’m ugly?”

Sebastian wanted a cigarette. He wanted another bottle of whiskey. Mostly, he wanted to leave.

“I didn’t say that.”

The corners of Ciel’s mouth came up again. They wavered, his fingers curled and toyed with the crucifix brushing his clavicle.

“Yes you did. You said I was uglier than sin.”

His other hand lay protectively over his stomach, and the hunter wondered if it were instinctual. The nurse had said he would scar. She said he was lucky, only half an inch deeper and he would have been done for.

“If you shut that mouth of yours you’d be alright.”

The truth felt unusual in the man’s mouth. He swallowed to rid himself of the taste. He hardly dared to look up through his lashes and face the way Ciel’s entire face filled with another brilliant smile.

“Really?” He grinned. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Yeah you’re pretty,” Sebastian said. “Pretty fucking stupid.”

It was worth it just to see the disappointed look the young man gave him.

“Now go to sleep before I put you to sleep.”

“You ain’t gonna kill me,” Ciel reckoned, tongue heavy with sleep. “You just saved my life.”

Sebastian stared at the darkness of the hospital, at the other silent figures in their beds. He huffed.

“Only did it because you’re paying me. If I had it my way -”

He looked down and saw that Ciel had fallen asleep. The heir’s breath came out in soft exaltations, eyelashes flush to his cheek.

Sebastian was left alone again, nothing but the smell of bleach, and the overwhelming notion that he had no idea what he was doing anymore.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

“Mamá?”

His voice echoed. Heeled shoes clicked up and down the hall. Hot air whispered in the windows, faded curtains dancing in the afternoon sun. Dust particles danced over the boy and his mother, settling on the crisp white sheets.

Sebastian’s hand was weak tea to his mother’s coffee-coloured hand. He squeezed, pressed his thumb to her palm to try rouse her. His mother's chapped mouth opened, but all that came out was an unconscious, sore noise.

“Mamá, wake up.”

His voice was sticky from crying, hair tucked back behind both ears. Each time a nurse walked past him she would stare. Sebastian sat perched on the hospital mattress, rubbing his mother’s warm fingers, watching her chest rise up and down like it might stop any moment.

Sebastian hated the waiting most of all.

He hated waiting for her to wake up. He hated waiting to go home. He hated not knowing if he'd spend another night curled up on the cold, tile floor. He hated not knowing when he could go back to his home, and sweep the dried blood from the dirt.

And after the dust had settled, the thing Sebastian hated most of all was waiting for his father to come back across the river and beat her again.

“Let's run away, little man.”

She made the promise every time. They were the first words from her mouth when she woke, eyes dark with bruises. She forced the sentence out her strangled throat, scraped together illusions of a life spent far away from his father.

“We’ll go to the beach. We’ll start again.”

She said it so many times it lost meaning. She said it so often they became an ugly thing to reckon with. Something to stare at, to force himself not to cry at, as hopeless as his mother’s broken arm and busted lip.

Sebastian woke with a start, spilling the contents of his fifth coffee.

Ciel was dead to the world. He hadn’t moved much in his sleep, hand still resting over his bandaged navel. If Sebastian held his breath he could make out the softest snores coming from the boy’s half-open mouth.

He figured it had been the dream that woke him. His subconscious self-defence, his way of suppressing the part that came next - the day his father had killed his mother.

But then the _crack_ of a gunshot echoed up the hospital hall, followed by a string of faint screams, and Sebastian was wide, wide awake.

“Heiress, get up.”

He grabbed one of the boy's arms and jostled until he woke, eye wide and hair all over the place. His eye were still glassy, blood drained from his face.

“Bastian?” He slurred, voice dripping honey. The bounty hunter had no time to turn his nose up at the nickname, instead ripping back the bedsheets and forcing the dress back over Ciel's body.

“What's going on?”

The hunter pushed his hand over the boy's mouth to silence him, bated breath as another gunshot echoed down the halls from the far side of the ward.

“We gotta go, come here.”

He ducked down and hoisted the boy up against his chest, one arm under his coltish legs, the other on his pistol. He carried Ciel ] into the dark, until the two of them pressed to the cold, unforgiving walls.

“Stay quiet,” Sebastian whispered against the heir’s ear, pulling back the hammer on his gun. In the distance something clattered, feet pounded against the stone as the commotion ricocheted closer. The boy’s heart pounded against Sebastian’s own, quick and nervous like an animal.

“I think you pissed him off,” Sebastian whispered, crouching down a little. Ciel’s skirts rustled, lost beneath the noise of reverberating violence encroaching up the hall.

“ _Me?_ ” Ciel hissed, bite already back in his voice. “You put an arrow in his brother’s head.”

“Maybe,” Sebastian mouthed against his ear. “But you disembowelled his right hand man.”

Ciel hummed, ducking his head under Sebastian’s jaw. His hair smelled like medicine, his nails sharp where his hand dug into the man’s arm. With one careful foot behind the other, Sebastian edged along the wall towards the wide French doors, the night wind beckoning from beyond.

With Ciel kept close to his chest, Sebastian rose up and looked through the glass. He could make out Diablo’s shadow along the tree-line, and Rabbit’s speckled hide not too far away. It was a clear shot from the double doors to the trees, nothing but flat desert and the occasional scrub between. The landing was blue with moonlight, and Ciel felt like nothing in his arms.

They had to make a run for it.

He told the heir so much, murmuring his plan against peach-fuzz and a rabbiting pulse. In the dark Ciel’s hand found his arm and squeezed his faith into it. He turned and found his face, stared right into his eyes with his consuming stare.

“I trust you,” Ciel whispered.

Sebastian hitched Ciel higher, felt the boy flinch as his stomach brushed against his vest. The heir wrapped both arms around his neck and kept his head low, dug his nose into the pulse point on the man’s throat. He could now see bright flashes down the hall, warbled shadows of fallen candles, and the gunshots were so loud they left ringing in their absence.

The French door creaked as they slipped out of the hospital.

Sebastian’s boots pounded across the earth.

His heart beat like a hammer on an anvil.

The bullet caught him like a freight train.

Sebastian’s knees smacked into the dry earth, the air forced from his lungs as he lurched forward. Ciel’s arms wound around him, his cry muffled by the ringing in Sebastian’s ears.

Something wet dripped down his back, followed by a blinding heat.

“I’m shot,” Sebastian forced himself to say, finally coming to his hands and knees over the boy.

Ciel stayed boxed beneath him, the last of the anaesthetic melting off his features as panic replaced it instead. His chest heaved as Sebastian eased his arm out from under him and pawed for the wound on the back of his shoulder.

Once more his hand came back slick with blood.

“Oh fuck,” Ciel blurted, staring at his fingers like they were on fire.

In the back of his head Sebastian wanted to laugh at the sound of their heir cursing. He wanted to throw up even more. He turned his head and watched as a figure stalked out the open doors they both had fled from. It strode across the blue clearing with his gun raised at the pair.

“Sebastian, get up.”

Ciel shoved his chest, palms shaking. Sebastian ran his tongue over his teeth and shook his head. Blood dripped down between his shoulders and pooled in the small of his back. With his uninjured arm he grabbed Ciel’s wrist and forced his trembling fingers around the thick of his loaded pistol.

“Shoot him and take Diablo,” Sebastian muttered, rolling to his side to put a wall between the shooter and the heir. Their eyes met, Ciel’s wide and panicked, and even bluer when the stars caught it right.

“He’s faster, and he can take you some place safe. Shoot and run, heiress.”

Ciel stared past his shoulder, still clutching the gun in a state of shock. Boots crunched over the dry earth, and the ruckus in the hospital seemed to fade out in favour of the wind, the grass, and heavy breathes.

“I said go!” Sebastian yelled, shoving the boy so hard he cried out. A familiar expression returned to the eighteen-year-old’s face.

The boy readjusted his fingers on the trigger and crept closer to Sebastian’s chest, aiming the pistol over his shoulder at the encroaching man. With his mouth near Sebastian’s ear, he bared his teeth and muttered on his hairline.

“I ain’t going to leave you alone out here,” Ciel promised.

Sebastian closed his eyes, a violent tremor coursing through his body.

“Ain’t no one gon’ care if I die - take Diablo and run.”

Ciel swallowed. He pulled back the hammer on Sebastian’s pistol, the crook of his arm resting on the man’s throat. His face were the epitome of concentration, his bottom lip pulled through his teeth as he narrowed his eye and exhaled.

“Can you walk?”

Sebastian nodded. All the muscles in his back shuddered and twitched.

“Alright then,” Ciel said. “After I shoot we’re going to get up and run.”

“And if you miss?”

Ciel went still.

“I ain’t going to miss.”

A bellowing _crack_ rang out across the clearing. Ciel’s shoulder jerked back, his small body thrown down by the force of the bullet. The echo deafened the bounty hunter, glove clasped over his ear as Ciel scrambled to his feet, a mess of skirts and dust.

With aching arms, Sebastian followed, grabbing the heir by his arm as he dashed towards the trees. Every inch of him cried out in agony, his body begging him to stop. He thudded across the earth, nothing but Ciel’s milky shoulders and flash of hair to guide him. He kept running until he staggered down a ditch and to the tree-line. Diablo’s flesh became warm and tangible in the bowl of his leather palm.

He used the last of his strength to heave himself over the saddle. Ciel climbed up on front, taking Diablo’s reins without a word. Under the layer of sweat, and dirt, and morphine, Sebastian could smell the tacky whore perfume on Ciel’s neck. He breathed it in, resting his head against the skin of the boy’s back.

Diablo shifted beneath them, and they slipped away into the night.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Diablo rode until lilac shrubs became viridescent.

As the sun came up over the horizon, the flat desert gave way to towering rock face. The dawn caught the layers of sediment, striped peach, vermilion and atomic tangerine. In the quiet of the fresh day Ciel heard the echo of water dripping down the highest rock. Black rivulets of worn out sandstone that collected in thickets of green that often hung overhead the two men and their horses.

The cool air coaxed goosebumps from Ciel’s skin. His dress slipped down one shoulder but he made no move to catch it. Diablo’s reins twisted around frozen knuckles. His other hand cupped the back of Sebastian’s, where he had it slung around the heir’s waist. The boy squeezed the leather glove, wincing as another dollop of blood seeped out his torn and throbbing stitches.

“Sebastian?”

The bounty hunter’s breath were fainter than the morning breeze. His stubble itched the back of Ciel’s bare back as they rode. He made a noise, a rumble against the boy’s spine to let him know he were still alive.

“Sebastian, talk to me.”

Ciel was met with silence, the echo of Diablo and Rabbit’s hoofs as they picked careful ground through the rock sediment and wildflowers. The grass rustled to the right, something rippled through the thick of it, fur the colour of the apricot mallow.

Tears had long dried on Ciel’s cheeks, stuck as far down as his throat. He could still feel the bullet’s vibration in his hand, could see the way his enemy crumpled as the crook of his finger shattered his skull. In the dark Ciel could not have known for sure who he’d shot, but he suspected it were Clancy.

“Sebastian, please wake up.”

Nothing.

Not even a breath. No movement when Ciel squeezed his hand. He couldn’t turn his head without fear of the man’s weight easing off his back. He shuddered to think what would happen if the man fell.

Ciel’s breath hitched and he sobbed when he curled his fingers around Sebastian’s and eased his hand from the sticky patch of blood on his belly. He eased back his glove and saw how pale the man’s wrist had become.

“ _Sebastian_ ,” he begged. His voice echoed. Diablo’s ears pinned back at the noise. No one answered. He hitched the man’s arm closer to his body, pressed back just enough to feel the warmth of another human. It was easy to cry, to fall to pieces when he were all alone. It was easy to remember how helpless he was without Sebastian by his side.

The young boy reduced himself to hysterics again as he cradled the limp hand against his hip, and his stomach bled. He held the stallion’s reins like a lifeline, squeezed his muscle between his legs, and bowed forward to press his wet face into mane as black as crow’s wings.

He put all his faith into the stallion’s direction. In that moment, blind faith were all he had left.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Soma watched something move along the horizon.

It struck him as familiar, the figure that picked its way along the rocky hill. It was too distant to tell the colour, the dawn too foggy to see much more than movement. The young man brushed thick hair off his brow and waited, hip pressed to the window of his upstairs bedroom.

As the sun came up over the tall grass, Soma recognised the figure as a pitch black stallion.

He couldn’t help the grin, the skip of his heart, as he mouthed Diablo’s name. Soma rushed out of the bedroom, the twenty-two-year-old wearing only an oversized shirt, the hem brushing the top of his bare, brown legs.

“Agni!”

The kitchen was flush with natural light. The sun filtered in through windows lined with vegetables, herbs, clusters of garlic and dried flowers. Birds made palaver across the silent dawn, and the fragrant _pop_ of the skillet met Soma’s ears as he rounded the corner and laid eyes on the love of his life.

Agni poked at the sunflower seed cakes with a fork, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. He turned at the sound of his name, long hair a mess and bundled up on top of his head like a bird’s nest made of alabaster thread.

The taller man made a pleased sound as Soma pressed up against his bare back. The younger kissed between his shoulders, his lips quirked as his hands traced the muscle of Agni’s hips, the firm and handsome lines of his stomach.

“My prince,” Agni rumbled, picking up one of Soma’s hands to press a kiss to it. Soma rocked up on his feet to meet his mouth, the taller man’s mouth tasting like tea.

“I have a surprised for you,” he told him, unable to help the smile that spread over his face. Agni took the skillet off the heat and turned, cocked his head and coaxed the short hemline of Soma’s shirt up over his thighs.

“Better than last night?”

Soma swallowed, smile faltering, as Agni gave his ass a squeeze. He eased up against his warm body, found a home for himself against hard biceps and skin that smelt of melted butter.

“Debatable,” he murmured into his neck, pressing a kiss there for good measure too.

When he glanced up Agni was staring at him with eyes so black his pupils were only a thin, grey ring. He looked ready to forget about the sunflower cakes and devour Soma for breakfast instead.

Soma forced himself to step away. He tugged at Agni’s hand, and like always, the man followed him with no hesitation.

“It’s Sebastian,” Agni breathed, face alert and glorious the instant he saw Diablo on the horizon. His hand shielded his eyes from the brilliant sun, the land drenched in colour as it rose.

“Who else?”

Soma leaned forward on the balcony and watched the shapeless figure turn to billowing skirts, the brim of a familiar hat. Agni made a noise, corner of his mouth crooking up.

“I think he’s finally bought a girl home,” the man surmised, folding his arms over the balcony. Sprigs of blossoms danced in the breeze, the colour of Agni’s hair.

Soma bumped his hip against the man he loved, paying attention to the way the sun caught his iris, how his skin seemed to glow once the sun caught it. He watched the way Agni’s eyelashes fell as he blinked, kissed the rise of his cheekbones, how he wet his mouth and made the flesh dark and slick.

He watched as the pleasantness fell from his features, and Agni straightened up and clenched the wooden fence. Beneath his hand crushed stray flowers, small splinters of the well-worn surface.

“Something’s wrong,” Agni said, colour falling from his face.

He turned to look at Soma, swallowed so thickly he could trace the line of it down to his bare collarbone. The young man could only watch, breath hitched as the two horses wandered down the ravine and towards their valley home.

The dancing blossoms went ignored. The sunflower cakes turned cold. The dawn turned grey, and paled everything under her touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please come talk to me on Tumblr about this chapter!! bun-o-ween !!  
> Also, don't forget to kudos! :D


	9. Calliope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I worked for so long on this chapter and still feel unusual about it...

_Clink_.

The key hit the cold cement. Cider-eyes wiped his knife, black with blood, across his trousers. Bile boiled up in Ciel’s throat, pooled behind his teeth and made him drip from eyes, and nose, and mouth.

His twin made an inhuman sound.

Ciel’s own screams hurt his ears. He cried so hard his throat broke apart like dry bread, his lungs caught fire. He screamed like it might wake his mother and father, rotting on the floor above his head.

He screamed so it might smother the sound his brother made.

Raw, and wet, and dark innards moved from the wound like molasses, oozed into a dark pink pool on the floor. His twin’s fingers skirted the sides of the incision, curled them like he could coax them back in. He shook, skin white like ash.

“I ain’t hardly believe my eyes!”

Cider-eyes spoke like a showman – too bright and too glimmering for the gruesome cellar. Even his men had fallen silent in shock.

“This little bastard’s still kicking,” he huffed, daring to sound impressed.

Ciel moaned, jerked his wrists against their binds and tried to kick the man that dare gut his brother, and then stand over his body laughing. Cider-eyes dodged his fury easily, eyes reflecting all the hate the smallest twin exuded.

“God damn,” the man muttered, crouching down to get level with the boy. “You're madder than a box of frogs, sweetheart. It ain’t like I killed him. _Look_.”

Cider-eyes grabbed Ciel’s face and forced him to look upon his dying brother. He could not bare the sight of his stomach, the punctured wound from which the key had been cut – and the carnage in it's path. He fixed his eyes to his brother's face, and sobbed so hard he felt he'd been gutted too.

“Stop!” Ciel cried. “Stop! _Stop it!_ ”

His twin shuddered like he could see it too. His fingers continued their feeble dance, their spider-like curl and tug like they might stitch his jagged wound back together. Ciel’s mouth hung open, Cider-eyes droning like cicadas. The boy wasn’t sure if he were screaming, or if he’d bled himself dry of them.

The man above them, the devil incarnate, ducked down for the blood-sticky key. He examined it, jerked his chin at the circle of crooks that watched the tragic scene come to a close.

Before he left, he came down to pester Ciel for the final time. He supposed he had been crying out – because when a thick hand clamped over his mouth the room went deathly silent.

“You spoiled cunt.”

Ciel saw bared teeth, narrowed eyes in his peripheral. Dead ahead the silver cross his brother wore, the only holy thing left in sight.

“You should be grateful I ain’t cut you open too,” the man growled. “Why don’t you say thank you?”

Ciel closed his eyes, his lashes resting against the back of the man’s hand. Humid lips on his ear, sneer pressed to the shell. Fingers came away from his mouth one by one.

“Thank you,” Ciel repeated.

His soul ruptured.

Cider-eyes smiled, sour breath against the teenager. That mean and blistered hand tipped his head back and the devil kissed him. His tongue dipped in like a maggot burrowing into a wound. Ciel choked on it, gagged and moaned against foul lips.

His brother made a worse sound.

Ciel sobbed until cider-eyes smacked his head with the handle of his pistol. He bit his tongue, and his eyes rolled back. The room went black, and the men stole away into the midnight.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel woke to sunshine.

Soft sheets. Clean hands. His eyelashes were heavy, mouth bitter as he ran his tongue over his teeth. His hair lay against his cheek, washed and combed. Tentatively he bought his fingers to his eye, exhaling as he felt the patch.

Birds chirped, but no other sound disturbed the tidy room. From where he lay Ciel could see a field of rippling grass out the window, and the echo of horses. Dust motes came down from the ceiling, and when the heir sat up his side throbbed. The sheets slipped from his shoulders, his chest bare but for the bandage covering his navel. A cream-coloured kimono pooled by his hips.

His fingers traced over the edge of the bandage, pulse fluttering. He pressed the stitches one by one, last night’s dream too tangible. Sticky blood and black innards seeped out behind his eyelids, stuffed his heart into his throat. He coughed, and it came out like a whimper.

Something echoed through the floorboards, and the heir’s skin crawled for someone else.

 _Sebastian_.

By the bed were his silver possessions, his cross and ring and knife. Ciel took his dagger and turned it over in his palm, the blade wiped clean of his blood. Then he padded from the bedroom, feet quiet and gown fluttering at his ankles.

The hall was like the bedroom, neatly finished, small jars and clay pots of plants of every free surface. Their leaves bobbled in the breeze as Ciel snuck down the staircase, heart pounding like his stitches. Through the large, open doors the heir could see blossoms and red rock face, and had a memory of firm arms carrying him inside the house.

Something black slunk past Ciel’s ankles, and he followed the cat into a kitchen.

The plants multiplied in number, spewed out of apothecary bottles and cracked jars, fat green leaves and coiled root. The walls were tiled turquoise, plaits of garlic hung from the windowsill. The bounty hunter sat at a large table in the centre, buckled over with his head on folded arms.

“Sebastian?”

Ciel’s throat felt as raw as his skinned knees. He gripped his knife tighter, a cold shiver crawling up his spine as he took in two strangers - one tall and the other petite. The larger glanced up at him, silver eyes flicking to the silver knife, and went back to dabbing the wound on Sebastian’s back.

“Good morning sunshine,” he said, the corner of his mouth turning up.

Ciel blinked as a rose-coloured drip of water hit the floor.

 _Sunshine_.

His mother’s voice echoed in his head, made his knees weak. He backed into the wall and his lip trembled, glancing back and forth between the two strangers - and Sebastian’s gaping, angry wound. The man himself stared down at the knife in distaste, and growled.

“Told you not to leave the knife upstairs,” he muttered, voice thick with spit. “Boy’s a fucking psycho.”

The tall man made an amused noise, not looking up from his work.

“That’s funny,” he commented, “coming from you.”

Sebastian hissed, still glaring at Ciel like he could burn a hole into him from where he sat. The heir watched another line of water curl down the hunter’s bicep, shirt torn open in six places, and plip against the floor. The flesh around the bullet hole jumped and quivered. The kitchen smelt like blood.

“It’s fine,” said the petite boy. “He’s just shy. You’re safe, Ciel.”

Ciel’s face coloured at the word. He shoved his knife against the windowsill, suddenly sheepish. Sebastian groaned, closing his eyes. The heir noticed the shadows beneath them, the days of stubble on his cheek.

“I ain’t shy,” he bristled, tugging the kimono around his chest. “Who are you? How do you know my name?”

“I’m Agni,” said the man who’d called him sunshine, “and that’s Soma.”

He inclined his head at the petite boy, who’s entire face smiled upon introduction. He cast Ciel a coy look, raised an eyebrow at him and laughed.

“ _Everyone_ knows who you are,” Soma added. “Your face is all over the papers, Ciel Phantomhive.”

The heir blushed.

Both men had skin browner than Sebastian’s, but the similarities ended there. Agni had a fey handsomeness, with alabaster hair so long it rivalled Ciel’s. His smile was a slow thing that crawled into his cheek when the heir spoke. He was tall too, perhaps the tallest man Ciel had ever seen, yet possessed a calm about him no man that size should have.

Soma was much smaller, with narrow wrists and wide, gold eyes. He wore a pin of the same colour in his hair, which was plum-black and wavy, and thick enough to coil into an elaborate braid.

“Ain’t much happen to our Sebastian that we don’t know about,” Agni continued, twisting water from his cloth. “In fact, I was surprised to see you were still travelling together. He can be… caustic.”

“That’s an awful pretty word for pig-headed,” Soma muttered.

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed, and he spat blood against the wood grain.

“You ain’t no picnic neither, _puto_.”

Agni stiffened, and he grabbed a handful of the back of Sebastian’s hair. He pulled hard enough to yank him up, his head tipped back and forced to stare into the other’s eyes.

“Ain’t gonna use that word in my house,” Agni warned, suddenly not so benevolent. “Not in front of my husband, and especially not our guest.”

Ciel’s heart skipped a beat.

 _Husband_.

The bounty hunter forced indecipherable words between his teeth, but Agni only tightened his fist. It made the man groan, the table shifting and sending a wave of water out the clay bowl and splashing onto the floor. Ciel watched it seep between the tiles, but between his ears was static.

 _Husband. Husband. Husband_.

“Got it?” Agni warned.

Sebastian swallowed visibly. He gave the most subtle of nods, the crest of his cheekbones flush with blood. Ciel stared in mild horror as the man submitted to Agni, sinking back onto the wood like a scorned child. He’d never seen Sebastian yield to anything - yet alone a single fist buried in the back of his black hair.

Agni glanced up and caught the boy’s startled expression. He let go of Sebastian’s hair and smiled, brighter than the dawning day. It made something move inside the heir, a little tug that made him desperate to make Agni grin again.

Turning back to his work, the man poured a sharp-smelling liquid into a clean cloth. When he touched it to the Sebastian’s skin he cried out, hand gripping the table so hard it cracked. Guilt pooled in the young heir’s belly.

Without thinking, he found himself standing and taking slow steps towards heaving shoulders.

Up close, the bullet hole was a black pit. The miasma of the medicine clogged his nose and mouth, but the stench of blood clung to every surface. Agni withdrew a pair of thin, silver tweezers, and splayed his hand over Sebastian’s back as he dug them into the wound.

Sebastian howled.

He drew in a rattling breath, his nails clawing at the wood. A thick splat of blood rolled down his spine and to the floor, a full-bodied tremor following.

“Fuck!” He screamed.

His back arched like an angry cat, and the spike of blood made the heir take a step back. The wet sound of the tool inside the man’s skin sounded too much like a finger seeking out a key.

“Sebastian?”

He watched the hunter’s hand curl up in pain, and the faint memory of holding warm, gloved fingers came back to him. The crunch of dry grass. The miasma of a hospital.

 _Take Diablo and run_.

“What, creep?”

Every word was like gravel, and the hunter’s breath smelt of iron. He looked sideways at Ciel - eyes glassed over in pain. He licked his teeth, same colour as his tongue.

“Do you remember what happened?”

Sebastian nodded, and did nothing to disguise the hated that bubbled up in his voice.

“I remember taking a fucking bullet for you,” he said.

Ciel’s nose twitched.

“I ain’t ask you to do that,” he said back, but found himself unable to meet that black and searing stare.

“You really are cursed,” Sebastian growled. “Everything you touch gets dragged through hell.”

A bead of hurt worked its way up under Ciel’s ribs.

“Sebastian,” Agni said, low and accusatory.

Ciel took a step back. Then another, and another, until he stumbled up against a warm chest. He turned and his nose met wine-coloured hair. Soma grasped his arm, squeezed it gently, and turned him to face the window.

“Let’s go back upstairs,” he suggested, taking Ciel by his hand.

White blossoms danced on the windowsill, tickled by the breeze. The heir looked down at their conjoined hands and saw the ring of gold around Soma’s finger.

Ciel nodded, unable to shake the weight of blame from his tired shoulders.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

In Clementine, Ciel had never wanted for anything.

He had everything. The world was his on a silver plate, the entire town willing to bend and kiss his hand like the dripping willow trees. He needed not for friends, as the greatest love of his life was born only moments before he. Both unwed, his brother was always his companion at parties, on one another’s arm at railroad openings and masquerades.

Ciel was now so lonely that it hurt.

He stared at Soma as the boy fetched a shirt for him, pulled it over his shoulders and threaded his hair through the neckline. The sleeves were loose, the cuffs firm to his wrists. Organic patterns laced the collar, white on white, and was pulled together by a criss-cross tie at the collarbone.

“Knew we’d be the same size,” Soma said, face bright with triumph.

He was beautiful. The type of beautiful that was rare back in Clementine - and absolutely forbidden to speak to. He wasn’t fair or blue-eyed like the boys Ciel had fawned for before, but he shone like the gold of his wedding ring. The heir couldn’t take his eye from it, and he hungered for something he’d never tasted.

“Soma,” he said suddenly.

The boy looked up, some of his hair falling loose from his braid. He sat down on the mattress beside Ciel, his face so open and radiant that the boy felt a longing to edge closer, a moth towards the new and gentle flame that took the shape of an unlikely friend.

“What’s wrong?”

Ciel stared down at the ring again, and took a deep breath.

“Are you really married to Agni?”

He hesitated to raise his voice any higher than a whisper. Soma leaned against his shoulder, and their hands touched.

“I guess not _legally_ ,” Soma whispered back, unable to contain the width of his smile. “But I belong to him - emotionally, spiritually,” he paused, giving Ciel a coquettish look, “and sexually.”

Ciel’s breath hitched.

“Does it hurt?”

Soma’s nose screwed up, and he laughed so loud it echoed.

“What? Being married?”

He narrowed his eyes knowingly. It made Ciel’s face burn, made him stare up at the ceiling and his heart worm it’s way into his mouth.

“No,” he murmured. “Sex.”

The fingers left his hand, only to trace up the inside of his wrist. Ciel glanced down at where they touched.

“You’re a virgin?”

He nodded. Soma exhaled, his own face as blush-ridden as Ciel’s felt. Even his eyes were darker, his voice hush and low.

“I was too,” he admitted, “Before Agni. It hurt, but in a good way. Being so in love with him, I was obsessed. All I wanted was to be consumed. He could have killed me but I wouldn’t have asked him to stop.”

Soma fell backwards into the mattress with a sigh. Ciel followed, laying down by his side. He couldn’t look away from him - the boy who had it all. A million questions sat on his tongue, but he forced himself to eat them.

“You’ve never felt like that before?”

Ciel’s heart hurt. He shook his head.

Soma rolled onto his side and reached out for the side of Ciel’s face. He pushed back his fringe and raked his nails into his hair, down his scalp with enough pressure that the heir shuddered. The touch made him aware of how long he’d gone without it, and if he shut his eyes it was easy to pretend he was back home, with his brother’s weight on the bed across from him.

He opened his eyes because it hurt too much to entertain.

“You will one day,” Soma promised. “You’re prettier than a peach."

He didn’t look away as Ciel turned pink. He seemed to relish in it, feed off the embarrassed glow that emanated from his skin. He winked, and a fresh wave of humiliation broke out under the heir’s cheeks.

Then he yawned, and shifted two inches closer on the bed.

“Can I sleep here?”

It was too light, but Ciel nodded anyway. Soma beamed, crooked his head so he could lay his head beside Ciel’s hand. He closed his eyes, but when the heir shifted closer to his warmth - his arm curled around his side and drew him near.

For a second, Ciel stiffened.

Then he settled into the heartbeat in the boy’s chest, and took a moment to pretend he really was home, and the hand entwined with his belonged to his twin.

He was asleep in sixty seconds.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

 _Please, Ciel_.

He woke alone, and to black. The boy stared at the ceiling, the room silent but for the raindrops on the roof. He swallowed, another tear rolling down his cheek and to the pillow.

 _Don’t do this to me_.

His heart was a rock. Ciel pressed his fingers over his mouth and whimpered. He rode out the last of his nightmare with his eyes wide open. They never stopped. They rolled in, and in, and in - like waves, eating away at the shore.

 _No one is coming. No one will help us_.

The heir’s heart swelled, tried to push its way through his ribs. He ached. His tongue heavy with his brother’s name. He pulled the pillow over his face and cried into it. He pushed it down until he couldn’t draw in air. He suffocated himself until his arms gave out, and he lay boneless and sobbing in the flax sheets.

The pain forced him to sit up. It forced his hand around his dagger once more, it’s blade dull in the rainy shadows. He could cut his throat, just like he’d read about in countless stories. They made it seem romantic, and quick. But a month of delivering the same fate to countless men told the heir it would be neither.

 _I love you, Ciel_.

He pressed the tip against his heart. He couldn’t calm his breathing, the end nicked through the fabric and into his chest. Like an ant bite. He cried out, dropped the blade in shock and it clattered to the floor.

 _Thud_.

The sound snapped him from hysteria, and something rustled from the other side of the room. Ciel watched as Sebastian stirred in the bed by the window, and released a snore.

Without conscious reason, Ciel padded across the room and sat on the edge of Sebastian's mattress.

Asleep he was far more agreeable. Long eyelashes. Thick hair, blacker than blood, washed free of sweat and tangles. His cheek and jaw shaved smooth, mouth slightly open as he breathed in, out. Ciel loomed over him, combing back his own locks to stop them from waking the man.

“Ciel?”

He jerked back like a thief caught in the act, his heart seizing up and drying all the tears against his face. He whipped around and there stood Agni, lantern lit and lingering in the door.

“I heard a sound,” the man whispered.

Ciel looked over to his own bed, the dagger still on the floor where he'd dropped it. His face was streaked with the evidence of his nightmare, so instead of answering he wiped pathetically at his cheek.

Agni bought the lantern to the bedside and took a seat next to Ciel, the mattress dipped with all three of their weights. Cautiously, he combed back the boy's fringe and examined his sticky tears, that fond smile on his mouth making the boy feel stupidly shy.

“Night owl, huh?”

Ciel squeezed his side and nodded. Agni exhaled through his nose.

“Me too,” he said. “I could fix you some warm milk. It always helps me when I can't sleep.”

Ciel's heart clenched.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” He bit, instantly hating how cold the words sounded.

Agni, to his credit, didn't flinch.

“What makes you think you don't deserve that?”

The heir sucked in a miserable breath, and shook his head. He had no words for it, the sick pit in his belly. He could not put it into words, surmise the way he felt. His thumb pressed to the pin-prick wound he'd stabbed above his heart. He could feel Agni's moonlight eyes on his skin, his patient breath in the dark.

“Want to see something funny?” The man offered.

His lips quirked up. An olive branch. Ciel nodded like a child, eager to change the subject. Without another word the man leaned over Sebastian, and took one of his hands from where it lay on the mattress.

“See this?” He said, offered his sleeping palm to the heir.

Ciel took it, aware he had never seen them ungloved before. Sebastian’s skin was warm, his palm calloused. He pressed his thumb into it and squeezed, gently as he dared. Against the root of his fingers was a half-circle of white scars, which Agni traced the length of.

“He got that one from Diablo.”

“No!” Ciel gasped.

Agni nodded, gifting Ciel with a smile. He turned Sebastian’s hand over and lifted up the sleeve of his shirt, revealing another scar on the back of his forearm.

“This one? From a fight down in Texas.”

Ciel turned to Agni and felt his soul lighten enough that he could breathe. The man watched him with that soft gaze, close enough the boy could see colour in his irises.

“I’ll show you my personal favourite,” he told Ciel, lingering a moment on his face before turning back to the sleeping bounty hunter.

He eased down the sheets, then pushed up the hem of Sebastian’s shirt so Ciel could see his flat, defined stomach. Suddenly the air left his lungs, the sight of the hunter’s muscled abdomen taking him by surprised. He stared, mouth dry, and didn’t protest as Agni guided one of his hands to the flesh above the man’s navel, and pressed down.

Sebastian grunted in his sleep. Ciel pressed his fingers to hot, terrifying flesh, and felt a notch just under his ribcage.

“From a prostitute in Mexico,” Agni whispered, taking back his own hand. “Tried to short-change her.”

Ciel’s hand stayed, his stomach turning over at the heat beneath his palm. He could feel the tender swell of his chest as it filled with air, the thrum of blood under the pads of his fingers. When he finally withdrew it was with burning cheeks, and the strangest feeling in his chest.

“And the one on his face?” He asked, partly to shake the amused eyes off the side of his face, and partly because he’d always wondered.

“Let me make you that milk,” Agni said. “Ain’t no conversation to have over a sleeping man.”

……………………………………………………………………………

 

The photo was dog-earred.

Both boys stared into the lens, sitting on flat slab of rock amongst a thicket of wildflowers. Agni’s hair was a shock of white, shorter when he was a child. The corners of his mouth were curved up, hand curled around a plucked bluebonnet.

Sebastian was smiling.

He was little, and not much older than ten. Ciel drew the photograph closer to his face, examined every inch of it like he’d never see it again. His shock must have resonated on his face, because Agni laughed.

“That photo is over a decade old,” he said, setting a mug of milk down on the table. “This summer we’ll have been friends for fifteen years.”

Ciel slowly shook his head. He reached blindly for the milk, pressed it to his lips and let the rest of his bad night ebb away with the pleasant flavour, and the faint rain outside.

“And the scar?”

He put the photo down, unwilling to become attached to the little boy’s face any longer. Agni’s smiled faded, and he settled back into the kitchen chair with his own mug between his hands.

“Sebastian’s daddy was a Texas Ranger,” Agni started. “He travelled all over America, caused trouble wherever he went. He was crooked as a dog’s hind leg - the type of man who didn’t think twice about his actions.”

He paused, and stared into the mug.

“Sebastian was conceived by force,” he added with a heavy voice, “when his mother was much younger than you.”

“Oh,” Ciel breathed.

“He always hated Sebastian. Used to come back just to terrorise the both of them, took advantage of the fact that his mother would do _anything_ to protect her son. Didn’t stop that man from beating him senseless. The amount of stitches we put into that boy, the bones me and my father set…”

He trailed off, shaking his head.

“And then one day he finally killed her. We found Sebastian sleeping out in the prairie, he’d been hiding there for days. Apparently he’d watched her die - but never told us how it happened. My father wouldn’t let me see her body. Said she was _irretrievable_. That her face was -”

He gestured to his own face, staring down at the table.

“We covered it in flowers, and we burned her. We took him in, of course. But Sebastian didn’t eat for a week, wouldn’t speak to us. He was thirteen, I think. When he finally snapped out of it he spoke of nothing but revenge. He became obsessed with it, devoted every spare moment he had to tracking down his dog of a father.”

Ciel released a shaky breath.

“Finally found him when he was sixteen,” Agni continued. “Took on his father and four of his men, like a fool. He was wild, and stupid. Still is, I guess.”

He gave a joyless laugh.

“He was lucky to escape with his life, but came back with that scar across his nose. He’s been looking for his daddy ever since. It’s the only thing he’s ever cared about.”

When Agni stopped speaking, the room went so silent it made Ciel nauseous.

“Lord,” he mumbled.

Agni glanced up, and searched the heir’s face.

“You’re going after the men that killed your family,” he eventually said.

It was not a question, but Ciel nodded. Agni deflated, and he took another mouthful from the mug.

“You know that ain’t your responsibility,” he said, using that kind voice that made Ciel homesick. “No one expects that of you, sunshine. What would your brother think if you wound up getting killed too?”

Ciel didn’t notice he were crying until his tear hit the tabletop. He wiped it from existence, grit his teeth and let fury work it’s way into his throat.

“I ain’t have a choice,” he bit. “You don’t understand how it feels.”

Agni reached out and warm fingers brushed Ciel’s knuckles. He withdrew his hand, holding it to his chest. He felt cold. He wanted his brother. He couldn’t rest, couldn’t allow himself anything tender until all twelve men were dead and rotting.

Two smiling, sepia faces looked up at him, and Ciel turned the photograph over.

“Have you ever hear of wild hollyhock?”

Ciel didn’t raise his head, but shook it. Agni kept his hand on the table between them, extended like the offer still stood. The heir was too proud to succumb to the childish desire for it.

“It’s a blossom from California, very pretty. Only germinates when exposed to fire.”

Ciel’s nose twitched.

“What I’m saying is people assume a flower could never thrive from ashes,” Agni continued. “Those same people would assume a fire could never produce anything beautiful. But the hollyhock defies what people think of it.”

Ciel finally looked up. He wanted to laugh, but the sound caught in his throat and just made him feel sicker. The mug of milk was cold, but he still clung to it.

“If you let your past define you, you’ll end up just like Sebastian. Alone, and enslaved by your own hatred - with nothing but scars to show for it.”

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian swirled the bitter liquid around his teeth.

It tasted like grass, looked like it too. He forced it down his throat and stared murderously at the rest of the cup, tempted to throw it on the lawn as soon as Agni turned his back on him.

The two boys were off wandering in the tall grass, their voices dulcet and far away. Sebastian glared at them from the porch, eyeing off the way Soma lead Ciel by the hand. They’d been inseparable the last two days, and it pissed Sebastian off.

That, and the fact that he’d been shot.

“Agni,” he said. “How about you get me something stronger than this herbal shit.”

Agni glanced up from the wicker basket on the porch staircase. In one hand he held a palmful of diced strawberry, which he fed to the injured fox curled up in the wicker.

“How ‘bout you get off your sorry ass and help me with the animals?” He shot back. “Juniper just had a litter of kittens.”

Sebastian sunk deeper into the rocking chair, struggling to get comfortable with the throbbing ache against his back. He watched the fox crane up her head to nibble fruit off of his friend’s finger.

“Ain’t want to see no kittens,” he mumbled.

Agni sent him a look, and he stared back out at the field. Soma’s laugh rung out like a bell, and Sebastian turned his nose up at it. Against the vibrant rock, Ciel’s crop of hair stuck out like starlight.

“That grey hair looks awful familiar,” Agni teased, looking in the same direction.

Sebastian swallowed.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re so obvious, Sebastian,” said Agni, feeding another chunk of strawberry to the fox. “He reminds you of that rabbit, doesn’t he?”

Sebastian pressed his tongue into his cheek, and blew hot air out his nose.

“He reminds me of a pain in my ass,” he hissed.

It made Agni snort, and he sat up, dusting his hands of pink juice.

“Would it kill you to admit you have a soft spot for him?”

Sebastian watched the two boys head over to the river, and worked his thumb into a groove on the chair’s handle.

“It might.”

He sent Agni a look, a warning glance, to tell him that the conversation was over. His best friend smiled, picked up the wicker basket and moved it to a safe place in the shade. When he came back he leaned over the porch railing, staring at the boys with fond eyes.

“He likes Soma,” he commented. “They’re very similar.”

Sebastian replied with a grunt.

“He’s exceptionally good with the animals.”

“What are you trying to say?”

Agni straightened up, and fixed the seated man with a frown.

“Sebastian,” he said very softly. “Convince him to stay here.”

“No.”

Agni’s shoulders fell. He continued to watch the boys in the field, his fingers toying with the blossoms that curled around each porch wrung. He plucked one free and let it flutter to the grass.

“He’s only a boy,” Agni said down to it’s crumpled form. “If he stays here we could look after him.”

“He ain’t one of your strays,” Sebastian muttered. “He’s like me. He ain’t gon’ be happy until he gets revenge.”

Agni screwed up his fist and stifled a noise in his throat.

“What would you have said to your sixteen-year-old self? If you could go back to that night you tried to shoot your father?”

The sentence made Sebastian pause. His body froze, even his heart seized up. He blinked at the peonies, forced his hand to raise his glass and finish off the grass-textured drink.

“Don’t miss,” he said.

Agni’s eyes flashed. He dropped his head and screwed both hands into his hair, the length rucking up like silk. Sebastian licked the herbal tea from the corner of his mouth, and sunk deeper into his chair.

“I know you think he’s real cute,” he said, “but that boy’s demented. Even if I wanted to talk my way out of all that money? I couldn’t. He ain’t some tortured, innocent soul. He’s cold-blooded, like me.”

Agni laughed, and when he raised his head he was smiling - shaking his head at Sebastian like he were a fool.

“You’re the furtherest thing from cold-blooded Sebastian,” he scoffed. “Ain’t never met a man who ran as hot as you do. But I’m never going to forgive you if that boy ends up dead.”

Sebastian turned his head. He broke free a splinter from the chair, snapped it between his thumb and forefinger. He could feel Agni staring at him, and refused to raise his eyes.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

The next night Ciel's brother visited him.

He woke to see him standing by the side of the bed, dressed in the pajamas he had died in. They were bloodless, his body in tact. When his younger brother sat up, he extended his hand.

Ciel took it without question.

They walked for an hour, not a word shared between them. Just their hands, bound together. Each time the youngest boy tried to look too carefully at his brother, his edges would blur and start to slip away into the night.

They strode through the silent grassland, and tread over dormant flowers. The moon reflected in the black river, which had become eerily still. Finally the twins stopped, and Ciel's brother turned to look him in the eye.

" _When are you coming home?"_

Ciel's heart turned itself inside out.

"I can't come home. Now until they've paid for what they did to you."

His brother's smile became lacklustre. He shook his head - and then his body rippled. It was then Ciel realised he was not there. He was a ghost, the reflection of the moon upon the water.

He reached out his hand to touch him, and it slipped right through his body. He distorted, the blacks of his eyes bled out to steal the vision away from him, until all that remained were the sleeping flowers and the all consuming hole inside the boy.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Agni's father had always said " _a man's worth can be measured in the way he treats animals_."

If that were true, then Ciel Phantomhive was not the boy the newspapers painted him to be.

The boy was an effortless fit to farmlife, and blended in with the scenery like the dulcet white blossoms that crawled up each wall of the house. The warm breeze breathed life into the heir, and within a week he looked healthy again, a far cry from the skinny, ashen-skinned damsel they'd discovered.

He had a way with the animals - an aura that coerced all the living creatures on the farm to press themselves to his hand, crawl into his lap. Even the trickiest and most guarded animals perked up in Ciel's presence. 

But the most enamoured by Ciel, was Agni's own husband.

The pair were inseparable, joined at the hip from dawn to dusk. When the man found the two in the kitchen, they were eating together - fingers sticky from the basket of peaches they'd gathered from the orchard. 

"Boys," he hummed, removing his hat before turning to Ciel. "Wanna see something?"

The heir glanced down at his hand, in which he cradled something small to his chest. His lips turned up, strands of hair either side of his sun-kissed face. He wore it the same way his husband did - twin braids coiled up into a charming bun.

"What is it?"

"A surprise."

Both boys raised an eyebrow - but his husband looked far less amused.

"That's what you say when it's something gross," Sona pouted, and took a bite of his peach.

"I think Ciel might disagree," Agni smirked. "Do you trust me?"

"About as far as I can throw you," the heir grinned, turning the words around his honey-thick accent.

But he stood up, extended his hand, eyebrow raised in that imperious expression that should not have been as attractive as it was.

Agni placed a baby bullsnake in his palm.

His chest swelled at the delighted sound the boy made. The snakelet curled around his finger and to his wrist, and like most everything else - seemed perfect content to be in the presence of the beautiful boy.

"Knew you'd like it," Agni hummed.

He cast a look to Soma, a _told-you-so_ smirk. His husband rolled his eyes, but stared fondly as the heir shrieked, the snake slipping under his sleeve and out of sight.

He turned a circle, patted softly at his chest as if to seek it out. Agni grabbed him from behind and held his arms still. The heir wriggled, but pressed into his touch.

"Careful, sunshine."

"It tickles," he breathed, voice flustered.

Agni smoothed his hand around the curve of Ciel's hip, cast his husband a look, and then slipped his fingers under his shirt.

"She's just getting warm," he said, fingers brushing over the wound on Ciel's navel.

His stomach suckered, his fingers curling over the back of Agni's free hand as the snakelet slithered under his bicep. The man gathered the shirt up in one hand, the fabric familiar in touch and smell.

Agni would be lying if he said the sight of the boy wearing his husband's clothes did nothing to his stomach.

He found the snake curled against Ciel's ribs, seeking out the warmth of tender skin. He chased it too, let his hand linger longer than appropriate. Then he wrapped the bullsnake around two fingers and removed it.

When he looked up Soma was staring, a coil of peach juice dripping down his wrist. The fruit went forgotten in favour of staring at the broad hand splayed against the teenager's waist.

"Baby," he said.

Soma glanced up, mouth open. His lip still wet with juice, eyes glassy. Agni nudged his chin at his dripping wrist. Soma didn't break eye contact as he ducked his head and ran his tongue along the line, only stopping when he had his teeth in the fruit flesh again.

Ciel stepped away from Agni's chest, and wrapped his fingers around his wrist. He coaxed the snakelet back, and looked up through his eyelashes at the man. He smiled, very slow and purposeful.

Every living creature bowed to Ciel.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

That night they got drunk on lavender lemonade.

Sebastian was reclined against the porch stairs, nursing a glass of the liquor in his hand. He was quiet, his face subdued, and pupils full and black. Agni recognised it as happiness - one of the rarest emotions he’d seen on his best friend’s face in the better part of a decade.

The stars above turned to fireflies. Agni extended his fingers to the night and flirted with the insects, let their beating wings brush against his hand. They were idle, and dreamy in the twilight. Everything was beautiful, especially -

Agni glanced up to watch his husband curl an arm around Ciel’s waist.

The Phantomhive heir seemed unperturbed by the attention, content to settle his head of silver hair against Soma’s shoulder as they both stared up at the sky. They shared one glass of lemonade between them, and spoke in private chatter too quiet and sweet for either of the other men to decipher.

“Sebastian?”

The noirette took his time looking up from his glass. When he did his cheeks were dark with it, expression so relaxed his friend almost recognised his younger self beneath his scarred face.

“Hm?”

Agni glanced back towards the two boys, whispering in the night-lit grass. Ciel took another sip of the spiked lemonade, and the pair burst out into convulsive giggles.

“Is Ciel… are you and Ciel together?”

Something stiffened in Sebastian, and suddenly his tender look was gone. He glanced over at the heir, something Agni noticed he did rather often, and screwed up his nose.

“Agni,” he warned. “You know I ain’t -”

“Into men?” Agni finished for him, voice taking an edge. “Or into people in general? Have you ever been with someone you weren’t paying for the company of?”

Sebastian looked at him like he were stupid.

“Ain’t no one gon’ be with me for free,” he huffed, and looked up at the night sky.

The cicadas droned, and Ciel and Soma’s laughter echoed across the field in symphony. Agni watched a flash of hair, listened to the ruffle of fabric. They were still fused together, drunken pawing, kissing one another with the tips of their noses.

“So you’re not attached to Ciel,” he surmised.

“No, _pendejo_. What’s it to you?”

He stared at Ciel and Soma for so long that realisation cottoned on to Sebastian’s features. His eyes widened, and he sat up so fast he spilled his drink.

“No!” He hissed, jabbing his finger at his best friend. “Ain’t Soma enough for you?”

Agni swallowed, and ran the pad of his thumb over the edge of his own glass. He couldn’t shake the harsh stare off his skin, nor the pretty sight of the Phantomhive heir playing with his husband’s hair.

“Don’t make it seem crude,” he said to Sebastian. “I already spoke to Soma about it - we intend to seduce him together.”

Sebastian looked as if he’d swallowed a mouthful of glass. He looked from Agni, to the silhouette of the two boys, and then back to Agni again.

“Why the fuck would you do that?”

Agni shrugged.

“You’d be a fool to pass up on someone like Ciel Phantomhive,” he said to the fireflies, letting them carry his gaze skyward. “He’s beautiful. Even you can see that, right?"

Sebastian was silent for so long that Agni looked back to him, only to find him staring back down into his drink. He was uncharacteristically still, and the man reached out to lay his fingers against his friend’s knee. It startled him out of his reverie, and he pulled a face at the older man.

“I won’t do it without your blessing,” Agni added, quietly.

“My blessing?” Sebastian parroted. “What is he - my _daughter?_  I ain't give a fuck what you do to each other!"

He had the good grace not to yell, but he seethed it from between his teeth. His cheeks were darker, and if Agni weren’t so drunk he might have guessed the man were flustered.

“You’re bizarrely upset over someone who means so little to you,” he said.

He always felt far wiser after a drink or three. Sebastian didn’t share the sentiment, and sent a dark look towards the boys.

“He means _nothing_ to me.”

“You sure?”

When he turned back to Agni his jaw was so tense it made his neck flinch. He nodded, and locked eyes with his best friend. When he spoke, he sounded on his last nerve.

“Don’t ask me again,” he threatened.

Agni didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me on Tumblr!


	10. Calliope Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this seems a little rushed at the end... I just really wanted to upload it tonight, and I got so sleepy. If it's rubbish I will edit in the morning. Please let me know if you enjoyed it!

A lone juniper tree stood an indifferent spectator to the passing of man.

It’s twisted trunk stark against the New Mexican stars, foliage listless in the windless night. It was the type of evening where a gunshot could be heard a hundred miles away. That night there was no one to hear it, but two blond men and a teenage boy.

“What do you reckon, Jesse - think the kid looks like me?”

Sebastian’s father shifted his weight down on the sixteen-year-old’s throat. The heel of his boot dug into his oesophagus, pulled a desperate noise out of the boy. The second blond looked down.

“Nah,” Jesse drawled. “Looks like his whore mother.”

Sebastian would have sobbed if he’d had the breath to do it. An angry tear rolled down his cheek, the only one he allowed to fall. It joined the blood splatter on the dirt, a line of blood dripping from his father’s cheek. It was the only mark he’d manage to get on the man before he’d been subdued.

That, and three of his father’s men shot dead in the sand - so fresh the boy’s second-hand pistol still smoked. For an instant he’d had it aimed between his father’s eyes, the man who’d killed his mother.

But like all his careful planning, the gun backfired.

“You sure?” His daddy said, calm - like he weren’t stepping on his child’s throat. “I think his nose kinda looks like mine.”

His boot let up and Sebastian wheezed. The fire crackled, spat embers into the sky as the boy sucked in lungfuls of air. His father crouched down and examined, turning his face to catch the light.

“I suppose it does,” Jesse murmured, uninterested.

His father hummed, and in Sebastian’s peripheral he caught sight of his bowie blade. Quicker than he could blink his father swiped it across his nose. Sebastian’s skin split like butter, blood covered his mouth and jaw before he felt the sting of it. The boy screamed, no one but coyotes to disturb.

“Now we’re even, boy.”

Sebastian howled, thrashing so hard his nails collected dirt. Bile boiled in his belly. His legs kicked out, met nothing as the air prickled his flesh. He choked on the taste on it, couldn’t spit out the blood as it flooded his teeth, his tongue.

“I ain’t nothing like you!” He screamed.

He was shoved back down, one hand around his neck. His cries sputtered out into a groan. His father huffed, something metallic scraped over the sand. Sebastian watched him pluck the second-hand pistol off the dirt.

“Were you gonna shoot me, son?”

He said _son_ like the word tasted foul. Sebastian looked past the gun and at the ash-coloured corpses. If the sight upset his father, he didn’t show it. He shook his head, waved the rotten pistol like an extension of his hand.

“We got more in common than you think, boy.”

The steel pressed to Sebastian’s cheek, but he didn’t give him the satisfaction of flinching. He narrowed his eyes to slits, let his next words come out low and dirty.

“You killed my mamá.”

The barrel trailed down his jaw and smudged the single tear he’d cried.

“Your mamá was a two-bit hooker and she’s better off dead.”

“No she wasn’t.”

His father’s laugh fanned across his wound. He flinched, but with his back pressed flat to the bitter earth he had nowhere to go.

“Yes she was, boy. I didn’t want you - and neither did she. You spoiled business for the both of us.”

To Sebastian’s horror, he started to cry.

“I hate you,” he hissed through his embarrassment.

His father’s hand tightened around his throat. He leaned right over him, so close Sebastian could see the colour of his eyes. He’d never been so close to the man before, never had the chance to look up see if their noses really were the same.

The thought only had him cry harder.

“You ain’t know the first thing about hate,” his daddy growled. “I’ve despised you since you were the size of my fingernail.”

He choked the boy so tight his vision blacked. Sebastian’s hands shot out and scrabbled in the dirt. Jesse kept fussing with his cigarette, face impassive to the sixteen-year-old dying by his ankle. He didn’t notice when Sebastian’s hand brushed over his discarded gun.

Both blonds startled when a bullet cracked through the sky - Sebastian’s daddy scrambling back, clutching his ear. Sebastian slumped, gulping air.

He scrambled to his knees, and poised his pistol at the bewildered men. He steadied his wrist, closed one eye to keep his sights set on the space between his daddy’s eyes.

He squeezed the trigger… and missed.

He hadn’t time for the sense of failure, the way the floor fell out his stomach. He pulled the trigger again, felt the pistol come up empty. _Click_. Before the men had time to react, Sebastian dropped the gun and ran.

He had his fingers in his filly’s hair when he heard the first shot, felt it whistle past his head and kick up dirt. His nervous horse reared, almost threw him. He clung bareback, hugged her shoulders and kicked her side.

Another bullet shot past but was lost to the thundering of hooves, Sebastian’s heart beat galloping to match. He cast one look back at the camp, a dwindling fire left behind in the horse’s dust-trail.

He didn’t see his daddy again for years - but when he did, the scar on his cheek had healed into the shape of a crescent moon.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel woke to the sound of retching.

In the dark the sound was eerie. The hairs on his arms stood up, his cheek turning to the pillow so he could see Sebastian’s silhouette. The man's shoulders shook, a sticky cough following the wet sound of sick.

Ciel took a deep breath and could smell the flowery poultice from Sebastian’s wound – and the sickly sweet miasma of his nightmare from across the room.

Then he stood, broad back blocking out the moonlight, and left the room. The door creaked behind him, remaining ajar enough for the teenager to hear his heavy gait echo down the hall.

For a moment the heir laid in the dark, feeling strangely mournful for the absence of snoring in their shared bedroom. For the first seventeen years of his life he'd slept side-by-side with another human. When Sebastian left the room, the silence was deafening.

So he threw back the covers and chased after the bounty hunter – with little reasoning other than escaping his own loneliness.

He found him by the river.

The grass was wet with dew beneath Ciel's feet, long grass tickling his leg. The bounty hunter was almost lost between the stooped trees, his figure hunched and low to the earth. He spat, the noise disturbing the tranquil babble of the misty stream.

“Sebastian?”

The man stiffened, but didn’t stand. Ciel watched his shoulders square, the blue-like outline of his hair where the moon hit it.

“What are you doing out here?” Sebastian hissed.

Ciel thought of the warm bed upstairs, and pretty smell of linen sheets – and how he'd abandoned them both just to get mud on his ankles. He looked back towards the farmhouse, and then to the man at the river.

“I heard you wake up,” Ciel said.

His cheeks burnt as the words left his mouth. Sebastian stood at that, turned around and Ciel examined his messy hair, long and tickled by the breeze.

“The fuck do you want?” He muttered.

Ciel shook his head, cast a look out at the prairie. His skin prickled, arms hugged around his waist. Although the first week of spring had passed – the nights still bit with the snow off distant mountains.

“Agni told me what happened,” he said, the grass rustling as Sebastian approached. His heart hammered, throat swollen. “To your mother.”

“Don’t say another word,” the bounty hunter growled, pushing right past him and back towards the house. The heir spun and watched him go, that feeling trapped in his chest like a bird.

Like a fool, he chased after Sebastian.

“I dream about my mom,” he called, feeling sick even as he said it. “I know how it feels.”

Sebastian covered two of his steps in a single stride, and the heir would not have caught up if the man hadn’t stopped, swung around and shoved him. His shoved Ciel’s wounded navel on purpose, sent him stumbling back with a shocked cry.

“No you don’t!” Sebastian whisper-yelled. “You ain't know nothing about my mamá. You don’t know anything about _me_.”

Ciel curled his hand over his stomach and shook, pain bleeding through his belly like fire. He could see Sebastian’s face now, the anguish tattooed onto each feature. His eyes were black, teeth bared. He looked every part the nightmare he’d woke up from - his heartbreak directed tenfold at the frightened heir.

“I just w-wanted to make sure you were alright,” Ciel said, taking a step back.

“Why!”

Sebastian’s face screwed up, his fist coiled. Ciel opened his mouth, but closed it. Bile bubbled in his throat, and his legs shook. He wanted to sink down in the grass, lick his wounds and hide away from the look the bounty hunter drilled into his cheek.

But he was stunned - so shocked he couldn’t blink, could only stare as Sebastian’s lip curled, and he laughed so dry and so empty that it stung.

“This,” Sebastian grit, and gestured to the farmhouse. “This don’t mean _nothing_. We ain’t friends. I don’t give a fuck about you - and once you sign your inheritance over to me I ain’t never gon’ see you again.”

Ciel stared at the prairie past Sebastian’s shoulder, ears ringing. He nodded, unwilling to look back at the bounty hunter. He didn’t say anything - but even if he’d mustered the wisdom to speak, he wasn’t sure he’d get the words past the lump in his throat.

He never got the chance.

Sebastian turned his back on Ciel and went back to the river.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Despite her missing leg, Berry was a calm fox.

She exuded patience, her wide-set eyes blinking only when Sebastian rubbed his thumb between her ears. The lady stared out at the prairie, grass pink with dawn. Occasionally she turned her head, nipped at the hunter’s hand with needle-like teeth - but all it took were a bat to her buttery nose and she’d detach.

She seemed unperturbed by the stump where her leg should be, and more concerned with a passing butterfly flittering over the wildflowers. Sebastian eyed it too, lashes heavy with fatigue. He hadn’t been back to bed - reluctant to return to dreams of his mother, and a screaming baby rabbit.

The man stepped onto the shade of the porch, cradling the three-legged fox with one hand. Her warmth was pleasant like the smell of breakfast from the kitchen. It told him that Agni was awake early, and as Sebastian came around the corner he discovered Ciel was too.

The man stopped dead in his tracks.

The heir was reading in a quiet voice, the kind that suggested he wasn’t conscious it. He was curled up in the rocking chair that faced the dusk-pink fields, back to Sebastian. His foot brushed against the tendrils that grew around the railing, tugging blossoms between his little toes.

Berry bit Sebastian’s hand, but he ignored her.

“Man cannot possess anything as long as he fears death,” Ciel drawled, leaning into his hand.

He spoke each word like he held a marble in his mouth, drew out his words so carefully, let them go like warm molasses. He had a voice that commanded the attention of the insects, of the fox that perked her ears up when she heard him. Sebastian held his breath.

“But to him who does not fear it, everything belongs.”

Berry whined, but Sebastian covered her mouth. It earned him another bite, a bead of blood welling up against his finger.

“If there was no suffering, man would not know his limits, would not -” A pause, a soft sigh. “You could just _ask_ me to read to you.”

Sebastian took a step back, and the porch creaked. Ciel glanced sideways, regarded the little animal the man cradled to his chest. For an instant something fond flittered over his Cupid-like face, but it slipped into a frown as he noticed the blood easing down Sebastian’s finger.

“I could see your shadow,” Ciel said, flicking his eye up to the hunter. “You ain’t as sneaky as you think.”

Ciel caught his lip between his teeth and worried it, his infallible stare faltering. He looked down, released his lip and it were strawberry pink. When he brushed back his hair the man noticed him swallow.

“Last night,” Sebastian blurted.

Ciel bristled. He turned back to look at the prairie, still toying with his plaits.

“What about it?”

With his back to Sebastian it would have been easy to leave, stalk right past the kid and to the kitchen where he knew coffee was brewing. The man looked wistfully in that direction, rolling his tongue against his teeth.

“Did I hurt you?”

He wasn’t sure why he said it. He wasn’t altogether sure why he stayed up all night either, replaying the yelp Ciel had made when he shoved him. Against his better judgement he came closer, stared down at the spot Ciel’s stitches would be.

“Do you care?”

Ciel looked down at the book in his lap, but the man knew he wasn’t reading. His shoulders were too tense, his toes had stopped prodding at the blossoms.

“No,” Sebastian said. Screwed his face up. Exhaled. “ _Yes_.”

Ciel pressed his knuckles to his lips to smother a smirk.

“Wipe that ugly look off your face!” The man hissed, uncomfortably warm.

But Ciel didn’t. His smile widened, and although it were somewhat sinister, it suited the heir far better than the shy, closed-off pout he’d been wearing when they first locked eyes.

“You only care because I’m giving you three-hundred-thousand reasons to,” he drawled.

Sebastian pressed his lips into a line, blinking away the memory of the sizeable donation Ciel had made towards the children’s hospital.

“No,” he grunted. “I care because I swore not to hurt you.”

Ciel exhaled, made a sound that might have been a laugh if not for his serious face. His eye went down to Berry, whom Sebastian felt surge forward for his attention. He squeezed her side, held her at bay - sick of how besotted all the animals had become with the heir.

“I’m curious to know what you’re going to do with it all.”

Sebastian blinked, distracted.

“My inheritance,” Ciel prompted, and then laughed properly.

“I suppose I’ll buy a whiskey that don’t taste like piss,” Sebastian admitted, thumbing Berry’s ear. “And a whore that’s not riddled in lice.”

“Is that all it takes to please you?” Ciel said to the fox. “Liquor and sex?”

When he looked up Sebastian examined the way his scar shifted when he smiled, the ugly line digging into the peach-like tender of his cheek. The heir was complicated. Sebastian wasn’t.

“I reckon it is,” he replied, in lieu of anything more intelligent to say.

Ciel bit his lip again, and glanced out at the lawn. He didn’t speak, but Sebastian felt he couldn’t leave. He cast another look towards the kitchen but stayed rooted on the porch, glaring at the way Ciel’s chest rose and fell as he breathed.

“You didn’t come back last night,” Ciel finally said.

Sebastian thought of denying it. Of lying - but then remembered all the times he’d found Ciel screaming his heart out in the night, thrashing like invisible hands clawed his skin off. He thought of stalking off without a word, but realised Ciel would not have said those words if he hadn’t waited up all night too.

“Bad dreams,” the bounty hunter said.

Ciel made a knowing sound and dog-eared the page of his book.

“Can I fix you some coffee?” The heir asked.

Sebastian blinked. Ciel took his stunned silence as a yes.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

The day was rich in natural splendour.

Sebastian picked his way along the river, his boots _click-clack_ ing against reeds. Red dirt stuck to the leather, and a warm breeze kissed the grass-tops.

In one hand Sebastian held the thick of a heavy sack, filled with oats and hoisted across his uninjured shoulder. In his other he held the worst coffee he'd had the misfortune of drinking.

He rolled his tongue over the acrid taste it left on his teeth, and side-eyed the teenager that trailed after him. In the morning light Ciel's eye was bluer than the river - but it didn't forgive the bitter cup of coffee he had made for Sebastian.

“Is it good?”

Sebastian readjusted the weight of the oats, and mumbled something under his breath. He thought of taking another sip - surely terrible coffee was better than none at all.

“It's something.”

He took another mouthful and instantly regretted it. He spat it on the ground, ignored the way Ciel's face fell.

“God dammit, heiress. You ain’t never made a cup of anything in all your life - ain’t you?”

He couldn't tell if the boy's cheeks were ruddy from embarrassment or the quick steps he took to keep up with Sebastian. Either way, he upended the mug onto the grass and felt no pang of guilt as the worst coffee in the world seeped down into the earth.

“I was _trying_ to be nice,” Ciel said.

“Tastes like you were trying to kill me,” Sebastian huffed, hoisting the oats higher on his back.

Up ahead he could see Rabbit and Diablo grazing in the lush grass. They perked up on sight of him, trotting over as the hunter and the heir made their way along the stream.

“I didn't mean to presume,” Ciel said, breathless from the walk. “Last night, when I said I knew how you felt. I hadn't meant to condescend you.”

Sebastian shrugged. He didn't know what _presume_ or _condescend_ meant - but the heir's sheepish face (and the horrible coffee) seemed to spell out a crude apology.

“I ain't bothered,” he lied.

The two horses approached and crowded Ciel in an instant, trampling the conversation to a dead end. Sebastian pulled a face at the way even Diablo seemed to favour the teenager heir over the fat bag of oats, and his owner.

“Hello handsome,” Ciel gleamed at the black stallion, hands tangled up in his mane.

If horses could preen, Diablo would have. Sebastian snorted and rubbed his fingers into the stiff muscle around his bullet wound.

The horses took their time to eat, so the heir found a comfortable tuft of grass and settled into it. He leaned back on his elbows and watched the clouds. His face looked void of fear, so relaxed that Sebastian joined him on the ground, staring at the ends of his boots.

It was easy to forget why they were here. The events of the past month rolled past with ease, like the Texas-sized clouds above.

“What are you gon’ do when all this is over?”

The question took Ciel off-guard, just the same as it did to Sebastian for asking it.

“After we kill the maggot,” Sebastian added. “When you sign your inheritance to me.”

Ciel opened his mouth, seemed to change his mind and closed it. He looked down, played with the silver cross that sat against his heart.

“I suppose I'll, I mean…” he trailed off, pressed his lips into a line.

It wasn't like the heir to be short on words. Sebastian wondered, for a brief, dark moment if the boy intended to do the same as he planned on doing once he found his father and killed him. To take a jug of whiskey, find a dark and lonely place, and get drunk enough to muster up the courage to shoot himself.

Strangely, while the thought never irked him before, picturing Ciel in the same position tasted worse than the coffee.

“You could come back here,” Sebastian blurted, aware he was speaking too much - but unable to shake the thought of Ciel, alone and dead in some cave off yonder.

“They want you to stay. The animals like you.”

As if to prove his point, Rabbit bowed her head and snuffled Ciel's hair. He reached up without breaking eye contact with Sebastian and rubbed thoughtless circles to her neck.

“And what - live out my days drinking sweet tea and watching the clouds go past?”

“Yeah.”

It took Ciel a moment to cotton on to the thought the man was serious, and the little smile faded off his mouth. He looked back up at the sky and tilted his head.

“Then why don't you do that, Sebastian?”

His name always sounded odd when Ciel said it - as if hearing it for the first time.

“If I were half as smart as you heiress, maybe I would.”

When Ciel looked back down Sebastian noticed that his nose was pink from the sun. Maybe he would freckle if he stayed there long enough. He laughed, a smile stretching across his face so wide his scar buckled.

Sebastian watched until all the oats were gone.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel's daddy only smoked on special occasion.

It made him look distinguished, and on the rarest circumstances he would lend his pipe to his teenage sons. His older brother took to it as naturally as his father, but Ciel had never liked the taste of tobacco.

But the cigarette he shared with Soma didn't taste like tobacco at all.

Ciel inhaled and closed his eyes, let his head rest against the lip of the porcelain tub. Without looking he passed the cigarette back to Soma. When the heir exhaled he released the smoke, along with all his anxieties, up towards the bathroom roof. They dissipated.

“You're grinning,” said Soma.

Ciel rolled his head to the side and the boy's nose was so close to his they touched.

“No I'm not,” he said, even as he felt another smile curl into his cheek.

Soma laughed, and it made the heir smother a giggle into the back of his hand. The bath water was warm, fragrant with rose oil. He and Soma were naked, just their knees, wrists and faces poking out of the bath water.

“I think I'm happy,” Ciel admitted. “It's funny, I feel so guilty being happy when my brother’s dead.”

His heart sunk.

Soma frowned, reaching over to smooth the damp bangs from Ciel's face. The cigarette still smouldered between his fingers, adding to the miasma of rose oil, the bathroom thick with the dulcet scents.

“Grief don't work that way,” Soma said, hand lingering on Ciel's cheek. “Besides, he would have wanted you to be happy - right?”

The heir nodded. He swallowed the bead of hurt down into his belly, let himself settle into the easy buzz of contentedness. Soma took another drag.

The heir watched the boy keep the smoke behind his teeth, felt his hand curl around the nape of his neck. Soma tugged him closer and he went willingly, heart skipping as their mouths came so close they almost kissed.

Ciel opened his lips and inhaled the mouthful of smoke, letting the last of his guilt ebb away.

“How's that feel?”

Ciel breathed in deep and slumped against the side of the tub. Soma's thigh was naked against his. His fingers didn't leave his face, only rubbed circles into his scalp.

“Real good,” Ciel murmured, examining the honey-gold band around Soma's pupils. “ _Lord_ , you're pretty.”

Soma laughed, breath so close to Ciel's lips he could feel the temperature of it. Their noses bumped together.

“Can I kiss you?” Soma whispered in reply.

Ciel nodded and their lips met.

Soma tasted like smoke on the surface, a little kiss that ended in a smack. Ciel wet his mouth and let his eye lid, shifting closer in the bath. Soma's lips curved up and then they kissed again.

He kissed better than Alois. No teeth, no rush. Soma took his time with it, cupped the back of Ciel's head and licked into his mouth like he were enjoying something sweet. His languid interest in his tongue made Ciel's stomach turn, his own fingers seek purchase on wet, brown arms.

Skin squeaked against porcelain. Ciel rose up on his knees and opened his jaw, curled his fingers into plum-black hair and sucked Soma's tongue between his teeth. Their chests met, slick and warm. Ciel's palms slid down and splayed over Soma's chest, curled around his ribs, pressed their navels together.

They broke apart, chests heaving where they pressed together. Soma's fingers slid down Ciel's spine, flirted with the twin dimples on his back. He squeezed the puppy fat of the heir's hips, so firm a sharp gasp came out Ciel's mouth and his fingers tightened in Soma's hair.

The young man under him chuckled, stomach pressed against Ciel's. Then the pair of them burst into giggles, foreheads pressed together as they laughed.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel's want sat heavy in his stomach like the candied peaches they ate for dessert.

He was fed and satisfied, and there was not a thing he could have dreamt for to make the night more perfect.

Except, _perhaps_.

Now he knew how Soma tasted he couldn't take his eyes off him. He was laughing, slumped against Agni's chest with a full glass of liquor. He shot a look towards the heir, and mirrored his interested gaze.

Agni and Sebastian were arguing over putting seaweed in the horse feed. It was the type of argument men often had, heated from the wine, with no real purpose but to butt heads like sheep. Ciel had been to enough dinner parties to drone the noise out, concentrating instead on the way Soma's toe brushed against his ankle.

“All I'm saying is give it a go,” Agni pushed, raising his hands.

Sebastian snorted, took a long drink from his cup and shook his head. The edge of his mouth curled up, the closest thing Ciel had ever seen to a smile on him.

“Well Diablo ain't never had no _seaweed_ before, and he's fitter than any one of your ponies.”

Ciel couldn't help but smirk. He looked at Agni to find him shaking his head, both men at an impasse. The veterinarian glanced at Ciel and leaned forward across the table.

“Sebastian don't like trying nothing new,” Agni whispered loudly.

A half-eaten biscuit smacked the side of his head. Soma giggled into his hand. Ciel took another drink to mask his smile, his cup empty.

“More wine, sunshine?”

Ciel nodded. Soma leapt up before Agni could get the jug.

“I’ll do it.”

He rounded the table and filled Ciel's glass, so close he could smell the bath oil clinging to his skin. It was much sweeter on him, the drowsy scent combined with the remainder of dessert melting all tension from the young heir's body.

Once Soma filled his cup, he ducked down and kissed Ciel on the mouth.

Ciel sighed. Soma curled his fingers into his hair like they belonged there. The kiss lasted a second but the heir could taste Soma's lips long after they departed. Their eyelashes met, so close the whole world outside paled.

Sebastian choked.

Agni paused, his glass halfway to his lips. He finally took a prim sip of his wine, blinked several times, then looked utterly unperturbed. Ciel cleared his throat and drank too.

The two older men were at another impasse - Sebastian glaring from one end of the table, and Agni staring back. The eldest raised an eyebrow, and the bounty hunter screwed up his nose.

Finally Sebastian looked to Ciel. His eyes were glassy from the liquor, the corner of his mouth tugged down. His expression exuded something the heir couldn't put his finger on. If the bounty hunter was trying to communicate, the message was lost.

“Guess I'm gon’ go entertain myself,” Sebastian announced.

His chair screeched as he stood, and he snatched the wine jug from the table. Agni made a face as if to protest, but held his tongue.

“ _My_ ,” Agni murmured, that slow smile of his returning. “How will we pass the time?”

Soma grinned and leaned on the back of Ciel's chair. He pressed a kiss behind his ear. It felt nice to be touched. To be wanted. The knowledge made him drunker.

When he looked up Agni was staring.

Sebastian muttered something not entirely in English under his breath, and stalked out the door onto the porch. He was still mumbling when he uncorked the jug with his teeth and drank right from it like a drunkard.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel had often wondered, on rare occasion, if sex would frighten him.

If another man crowding into his space would suffocate him. If hands on his skin would make him recoil, have him in hysterics just like the night his twin died.

The thought was intrusive, something that appeared when he looked too long at handsome men, or when his fingers strayed beneath his belt.

He had the thought again when Agni pressed his chest against his spine and pressed a sloppy kiss to the nape of his neck.

“Sunshine,” he groaned, fingers ungentle on the curve of his hip. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

Hearing Agni cuss made Ciel’s stomach turn over. He exhaled shakily, found the man’s hands on his skin and pushed them lower, let him trace the inside of his hipbones. His cock jumped as his throat was kissed this time, thick and searing tongue rolling down into his flesh.

He wanted to speak, wanted to tell Agni he was beautiful too - a deity amongst men. But his heart was beating too fast, skin flushed from the liquor, and the two men on either side of him.

Soma kissed his mouth. It was slick, slower than before. His hand splayed at the base of Ciel’s ribs, hitched his shirt so Agni could put his hand there too. Rough fingers grazed the near-healed line of his stitches, made the heir gasp.

Agni pulled back and his eyes were black.

With a strange calm, he brushed a lock of Ciel’s hair from his face. He looked hungry but he touched the boy tenderly, tracing the rise of his cheekbone like it were a butterfly wing. Ciel sucked in air and let Agni fill the space between them.

His lips grazed Ciel’s own, and they kissed.

“Mmh.”

Agni ate at Ciel like the half-finished dessert, cupped his head and dropped his jaw to feed his tongue to him. Soma nipped his neck, sucked a kiss to the junction of throat and shoulder so raw he knew it’d bruise. Ciel wanted it to. He wanted to be consumed.

They broke apart with kiss swollen lips, a thin strand of spit between them. Ciel chased after it, earned himself an impressed laugh. Agni squeezed his hips, let his fingers curl around the puppy fat of his thigh. Ciel’s own hands squeezed thick arms, took greedy stock of the well-earned muscle Agni offered him.

The man pulled back enough to look him over, luxuriate in the way his husband’s hands kept trailing higher and higher on Ciel’s chest. The heir’s gaze trailed down and fixated on the pornographic way the taller man’s cock tented the front of his trousers.

And then, because Ciel was young and drunk, and would most likely die in the coming months, he reached out and cupped his hand against it.

Agni groaned. The sound went to Ciel’s stomach, simmered and sunk lower, made his hips undulate and press back into Soma’s. He grazed his thumb against the fat, hot flesh, let it fill out in his palm. He had no idea men like Agni existed, and he was equal parts terrified and in love.

“Big, huh?”

Ciel had to close his eyes as Soma muttered into his ear. He nodded, felt Agni’s hand brush over his and keep it pressed between his legs. He rolled his cock into the heel of his hand and Ciel swore he could feel the damp beneath the fabric.

“Ahuh,” he sighed, like an idiot.

A cool breeze fanned over his brow, rolled right in off the prairie through the open kitchen doors. Ciel looked up through his eyelashes and saw the moon sitting low on the grassland, wondered if Sebastian was close by, if he were lonely.

And he felt like a fool for lending thought to a man who wouldn’t deign to spit on him, when he was pressed between the two most handsome men he knew.

“Ciel,” said Agni, his voice even lower. “Do you want to come to bed with us?”

 _Yes_ , Ciel thought adamantly.

But he couldn’t open his mouth and say it. Agni’s hand took his fingers away, curled around his wrist and kissed the heir’s knuckles. He looked expectant, his chest rising and falling. Soma bated his breath, curled both arms around the heir like he loved him.

“I…”

Ciel looked over Agni’s shoulder for a dark figure on the prairie and found nothing.

“I want to, but I -”

He couldn’t put it into words, but from inside him came a jarring throb, a pain that felt like homesickness.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian didn’t look up as Agni sat down with him on the grass.

He could see in the corner of his eye that his hair was ruffled, out of place to match the colour on his cheeks. He smelt like wine, like something else that made Sebastian’s nose wrinkle. He took a drag of his sixth cigarette and glared out at the star-dusted night.

“You’re smoking,” Agni finally said, leaning in to nudge at his shoulder. “Thought you said you weren’t attached to him.”

He reached over and plucked the smoke right from the hunter’s lips, took a drag of it himself. Sebastian took the opportunity to look at his rumpled shirt, but it annoyed him so much he turned back to the horizon.

“Did you fuck him or not?”

Agni snorted and it boiled Sebastian’s blood.

“I didn’t fuck him,” he said - drunk enough to cuss. “God, I wanted to.”

Sebastian made a noise, and finished off the last of the wine. He felt sluggish, couldn’t get up off the grass even if he wanted to. He could hear the distant chatter of Ciel and Soma on the porch, and the cicadas in the tree-line.

“But…?” Sebastian grit, hating the prolonged pause.

“But it didn’t feel right,” Agni said, leaning into his side again. “It didn’t feel like he belonged to me.”

Sebastian had nothing to say. He crushed his smoke against the ground and exhaled. He combed his hair back from his fringe, licked the taste of peach and wine off his back teeth.

“That boy’s damaged, Sebastian. He should stay here, you know he should.”

“I mentioned it to him,” the hunter replied.

He shook his head as if to say the conversation hadn’t eventuated to anything meaningful. Sebastian didn’t know how to ask Ciel to stay. It was like asking the waves to stay pinned to the sand.

“Go home,” he finally said.

“Hm?”

“That’s what I should have said to my sixteen-year-old self.” He turned and looked Agni in the eyes, releasing a breath that lowered his shoulders. “But do you think I woulda listened?”

Agni frowned. And then he laughed, shoving Sebastian so hard he lurched sideways.

“No, of course you wouldn’t have!” He grinned, clambering over the hunter so he could pin him on the grass. “You’re just as stubborn now as you was back then.”

Sebastian grunted, shoved his knee up in his best friend’s ribs and smacked the side of his head. They rolled, Agni’s laugh loud enough to disturb the insects in the grass. The hunter grabbed a chunk of alabaster hair and tugged until he got him on his back, narrowing his eyes in victory.

“I made my bed Agni,” he said, chest heaving. “Lemme lay in it.”

He fell back on his knees and dusted his shirt, half annoyed by the button that had broken loose from it, half elated at the stupid play-fight. Agni stayed on his back and stared at Sebastian through his legs, akimbo.

“And Ciel?”

Sebastian looked up and found Ciel, leaning on the porch, just far enough to be out of ear shot. He could see his hair though, see Soma hip-to-hip with him like usual.

“Let him make his own bed,” Sebastian warned.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

“Ciel.”

The room was so dark the youngest brother would not have known where the other was if not for his breathing.

The boy whimpered against the rope tied round his wrists, lips rubbed raw as he used his teeth to tug it free. The binds were tight and the seventeen-year-old shook. Each time his brother sucked in an anguished breath a fresh wave of panic coursed through him.

“ _Ciel_.”

His voice was thin, hitched on the end. Like it hurt to speak. In the dark he couldn’t see the pool of entrails that spilled out of his brother, and for that small mercy he was grateful.

“Ciel, listen t-to me. I need you to d-do something.”

Ciel finally tugged the rope free, thrashing his head until it pulled loose and fell from his wrists. He rubbed at the raw, bleeding skin but felt nothing. He crawled into the dark and sought his brother, fingers finally finding a sticky cheek.

“I’ll run for help,” Ciel said, bowing down to press their heads together.

“No,” his brother breathed. “I need -”

He flinched. Ciel’s heart fluttered like a bird.

“What do you need?”

He had to press his ear against his brother’s mouth just to hear him whisper. He smelt like strange men, like skin, like things that curdled the young boy’s blood. He was crying noiselessly.

“Daddy’s bedside,” his twin mouthed. “There’s a pistol there. Go get it, Ciel.”

A flighty sense of responsibility took over his better judgement. When he’d look back at that moment months later, he’d realise he was knee-deep in shock. There was no other reason to explain why he nodded hysterically, stood up, and padded barefoot upstairs into the burning mansion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please come talk to me on Tumblr!   
> It's bun-o-ween


	11. Addison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is heavy. Read with caution.

Ciel watched as his home burned to ashes.

The windows blew out with a _pop_. The curtains sucked out into the warm night, caught aflame and twisted like war flags. Fire licked up the white wooden walls. Even the garden caught alight, the begonias black and wilted.

In the light of the fire Ciel finally saw the blood. He was covered in it, knees and hands, even his hair. He turned and looked down the long tunnel of oak trees that headed towards Clementine.

He took two trembling steps towards help, and stopped. The wind rustled his pyjamas – _women’s_ pyjamas, soaked through with blood. He suddenly sobbed, surprising himself. He covered his mouth although no one could hear it. From behind him the Antebellum mansion exuded the most magnificent heat.

Ciel turned back to it like a moth and breathed in. His chest filled with dry air, the acrid taste of boiling paint. He staggered, clenched his hands and felt his brother's blood coagulate in his palm.

Then he crumpled on the lawn like a corpse.

When he woke fragments of the building were floating past like fireflies. For a moment the boy was enchanted, fingers itching to reach up and coax one of the insects to his hand. He got to his hands and knees, hair brushing the grass, and realised the bugs were diminishing to ash.

Inside, the fire cast an eerie glow from the top of the staircase. Something broke loose and crumbled, the sound drifting down to the young man lingering in the door. Against his primitive instinct, the one that screamed at him to _stop - turn back_ , Ciel ascended to the second floor.

He refused to look at his mother and father.

Their shape, visible in his peripheral, seemed to jump as candle light flickered over them. Although the fire came from the western wing, leaving the bedrooms untouched, Ciel's throat burnt every time he inhaled. Even the floor felt tepid under his feet, but the handle of his daddy’s pistol was cold when he fished it free from the bedside.

He stripped his clothes in he and his brother’s shared bedroom, toed off the shorts his mother had lovingly stitched for him. At the sight of the soiled silk he began to cry hysterically – but only for a second. Once again he covered his mouth, as if to ingest the sadness he'd spilt.

He dressed in plain trousers and a shirt. Before he left the bedroom he looked up into the vanity mirror and wiped his eyes.

When Ciel was six he fell and skinned his knee. At the time it had been the most painful thing he’d ever experienced. The trickle of blood that ran down his calf and into his sock reduced him to hysterics. His brother cried too, cupped his knee as if his body hurt in the exact same spot.

Since then he'd always felt what his brother felt. Bruises, heartaches, sunburn. One summer as they’d swum in the river his brother yelped. Without conversation Ciel knew something had nipped him on his small left toe.

It was because of this that Ciel knew his brother would still be alive when he went back down to the cellar. He imagined the death of his twin would be an indescribable pain, like half of his heart and soul being torn out of his chest. He always acknowledged they would die together - the pain of being severed too much to return from.

Below, his brother’s breath echoed. It sounded like wind passing over the grass. Ciel kneeled by his side and placed his lantern by his head. He took a moment to open his eyes, skin the colour of paper.

“Ciel,” he whispered, the smallest smile. “You came back.”

The youngest nodded and smoothed his brother’s hair back. His skin was pellucid and cool, and every action of his face seemed too slow. His blink, the way he ran his tongue against the corner of his mouth.

“I would never leave you,” Ciel swore.

He bowed over and touched their foreheads together. His brother's chest rose, then he choked. The blood was stark against his pale lips but he didn’t wipe at it.

“Did you get the gun?”

Ciel raised the silver revolver to the light.

“Is it loaded?”

“Yes.”

“Do you love me?”

Ciel scanned his brother's face. The elder stared back at him, mouth parted like he hadn’t the energy to close it.

“Of course I do,” he replied – and he laughed, confused.

The sound was sudden, like the unexpected sob. He didn’t cover his mouth, simply pressed his lips together and frowned. His brother adopted a similar expression, eyes lacking their usual shine.

“Please kill me.”

His brother placed his hand against Ciel’s knee and squeezed. Ciel stared at him, mouth moving a few times before speaking.

“What?”

The hand on his knee reached out for the hand that clasped the pistol. Clammy fingers curled around the handle, drew both it and Ciel's hand below his chin.

“Please,” his brother whispered. “Ciel, if you love me you will.”

He closed his eyes as another tremor racked his body. His fists curled, teeth grit around a pained noise. The slick, heavy slide of organs pooling against the floor made Ciel's stomach plummet.

“Don’t let me die like _this_.”

Ciel continued to stare at him like a puzzle he could not piece together. The circle of blood around his knees seeped wider.

“I can get help,” Ciel said. “This isn’t, I don’t -”

He tugged back the pistol, scandalised at how long it'd sat beneath his brother’s chin. His twin shook his head, glassy look in his greying eyes.

“No one is coming. No one will help us.”

Ciel felt tears touch his cheek, scalding hot. He pawed at them, still clutching the gun in one hand.

“Don’t do this to me,” he begged. “Why are you – stop it!” His chest began to heave, breath coming faster than the tears. “You’re my brother. I ain’t going to shoot you!”

His twin allowed him to cry. His fingers went back to his knee, rubbed weak circles to the fabric.

“I’m going to die,” he said – and Ciel realised the look in his eyes was acceptance. “If you run for help I’ll die alone.”

Deep down Ciel already knew that. Still, he shook his head, heart caught in the back of his throat.

“I won’t,” he muttered.

His brother’s face fell. The expression was almost as painful as the sight of his blood. Hope faded from his anguished features, even his fingers fell still by Ciel’s side. He convulsed again, and this time tears slid down his cheek with the dollop of blood that came out his mouth.

“Don’t let me die like this,” he hiccupped. More blood seeped from his mouth. When he coughed it bubbled, even dribbled from his nose. “ _Please,_ Ciel. You know I c-can’t do it myself.”

Ciel didn’t speak.

His brother’s hand found his, guided the gun to his head this time. His thumb, slick with blood, fumbled with the hammer. He was too weak to pull it back, so Ciel did it for him.

His brother choked again, another splatter of blood against his cheek. The sound was so terrible it tore Ciel from his daze. He snapped, sitting higher on his knees.

“Okay!” He breathed. “Okay. Okay.”

His hand shook. His twin’s fingers curled around it, left a fond smear of blood across his knuckles.

“It's alright,” his brother whispered, and in the same sentence nudged the barrel from his jaw to between his eyes. “I love you so much.”

Ciel inhaled and buckled over, removed the gun to press a kiss to his brother’s mouth. He sobbed into it, hand shaking so hard that when he pulled back and took aim again the muzzle slipped out of place. He forced it back, steadying the weapon with both hands.

“I love you too,” Ciel said.

His brother let his eyelashes fall shut. He seemed calm, gave the softest nudge to Ciel's trigger finger. The youngest hesitated, waiting for someone to save them, or to realise it was just a dream.

But no one came. Ciel didn’t wake up.

He breathed in and pulled the trigger. A deafening _pop_ burst from the loaded gun. His brother’s body jolted, a perfect circle between his eyebrows. His head slumped to the side, a thin trickle of blood fell from the wound and slid down the bridge of his nose.

Ciel came apart like a train with locked breaks. Each carriage collided with the one in front of it, until the whole thing bunched, fell to it’s side in a twisted knot of iron. He drew in a breath, the room void of the horrible, rustling sound of his twin’s breath.

From inside his chest his heart broke, and he felt his soul depart with the ease a child would take to pluck a wing from a butterfly’s body.

He screamed. He couldn’t hear himself over the ringing of the gun. Another dribble of blood ran down his brother’s forehead and settled in his fringe.

“No!” He shouted, cupping his twin’s face as gently as he could. " _No_. Please, no, no no no no."

His tears landed on the corpse's cheek. The line of blood diluted, turned pink and bled like ink. He flattened out his brother's fringe, shaking his head and chanting _no no no_ over and over.

But he was dead. Ciel had killed him. His heart was bleeding, and for the first time in his life the heir felt impossibly alone.

Like a fool, he whispered his brother's name, and cried when he didn't respond.

Ciel pressed the burning muzzle of the revolver to his jaw. He collected his brother's hand and rubbed apologetic circles to it.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

He pulled back the hammer and didn't hesitate to squeeze the trigger again.

_Click_.

The chamber was empty. Ciel howled. He pulled back the hammer for a third time, blind with tears. They landed on his trousers like drops of acid. He readjusted the pistol, so hysterical his aim lacked precision.

_Bang_.

A bolt of heat flashed up the side of the heir’s face.

He swayed on his knees for a moment, his arm falling to the side of his body. 

Then he lurched forward and crumpled against his brother's chest, blissfully unconscious.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

 

Blood stuck to the underside of Adrian's shoe.

He crouched down and brushed his fingers over Ciel's hair. It was matted and wet, stuck to his fingers as he combed it off his shoulder.

"What a shame," he muttered. "They were only seventeen."

He looked up at the chief of police, who was considering the twin corpses like one would consider a cockroach. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and smothered his nose in it.

Adrian narrowed his eyes, then reached down to roll the smallest twin from his brother's body. He hit the concrete with a wet _slap_ , arms falling limp against his chest.

In one he held his brother's hand. In the other was a silver pistol.

The undertaker's stomach fell. He whipped back around to check if the chief had seen the weapon - but the cowardly man was still hiding his face into his handkerchief.

Adrian took the gun from the boy's slender hand and hid it in the pocket of his vest.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

 

It was a bitter morning the day they left Calliope.

Ciel could smell snow on the horizon despite the weeks of sunny bliss they’d had. Agni assured him it would soon pass, that the Utah spring switched quicker than a heartbeat. Still his pleasant disposition did nothing to thaw Ciel's mood.

His brother visited him almost every night. Each dream he was whole again, that little smile against his cheek like all was right with the world. They walked the same path, hand in hand, and he always said the same thing.

_When are you coming home?_

Then Ciel would have the nightmares. The ringing, the phantom burn against his cheek. His brother's face, his eyelashes. The heir woke most nights in a cold sweat, screaming so loud he woke the souls of every living thing beneath the farmhouse roof.

He knew the dreams would continue as long as he stayed suspended in the little paradise he'd found on the farm. He knew he'd be plagued each night until he found the men responsible for his pain.

The men who pushed his hand and forced him to kill his beloved brother.

Ciel watched as Sebastian strode across the frosty prairie, Diablo’s saddle hoisted over his back like he’d never been shot. His figure was in stark contrast to his surroundings, fog coming off the long grass and blurring the line between earth and sky. The man dressed the stallion to his pleasing, puffs of condensation coming from both their mouths.

The kitchen was warm, the cup of coffee in his hand even warmer. Ciel turned as a hand brushed against his back and he came face to face with Soma. The boy smiled, leaned in so their noses touched. His expression made Ciel thaw a little. He allowed himself to breath in his cologne, to be touched.

"I don't want you to go," Soma said, shaking his head slowly where it pressed against Ciel's.

The heir's breath caught in his throat. He didn't want to go either - but his life was no longer dictated by things he wanted. He _needed_ to go.

"I'm sorry," Ciel breathed in lieu of anything sweeter to say.

Soma shrugged his shoulder, gave Ciel a smile far prettier than anything the heir deserved. Then he passed him a small satchel. Inside was a cream-coloured, silk garment.

“Seeing as we’re the same size and all,” Soma explained, cheeks a pleasant hue. 

The lingerie was far finer than the ones Ciel had before, with elegant designs stitched into each panel. He eased them through his fingers and felt his heart fill with anguish and with joy. He held the silk up to his chest and thanked Soma with a lingering kiss.

One kiss turned to several. They took their time to say goodbye, slow and honied kisses that tasted of coffee. Ciel savoured each one, sucked them slow and sorrowful from Soma’s mouth, still clutching the silk pieces between them.

Agni gave them clean clothes and new blankets for their journey. He also slipped six jars of peach preserve into Ciel's saddlebag, along with a bottle of lavender lemonade. He adjusted the buckles on Rabbit's saddle, then turned to adjust the lapel of Ciel's coat. He smiled, but it lacked it’s usual lustre.

“We're going to miss you,” he said very softly. “We're going to miss you a great deal.”

Soma waited from the shelter of the porch and Ciel was grateful for his distance. He almost cried as Agni touched his face, tilted up his chin so he was forced to look up him.

“I don’t know how to thank you for every -”

Agni pressed his finger to Ciel’s mouth.

“None of that,” he said. “Just promise you’ll come back soon?”

Ciel forced himself to nod, but it broke his heart. He had no intention on coming back. He knew he would never see the pair of them again - he wouldn’t allow himself to bask in their sunshine any longer.

The thought hurt him terribly, a small piece of himself crumbling away. He pushed himself into Agni’s chest to mask his misery.

Agni held him like a gentleman, pressing a kiss to the crown of his hair. Ciel could have stayed for hours, the smell of Agni’s coat as he wriggled closer to warm flesh, the way his arms fit so neat around the heir.

“C’mon,” Sebastian said, clearing his throat from atop Diablo. “Before the snow falls.”

Ciel took a deep breath and let go of Agni. He glanced up at his bounty hunter and nodded, mounting Rabbit with a heavy heart.

The two men set off towards the rising grey dawn, and not once did the boy allow himself to look back.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

 

The ride was silent.

Ciel stared ahead at the grass, the melting frost. Rabbit's gait was gentle, her mane soft as he braided it. The familiarity of the ride was comforting to him yet the boy couldn't shift the heavy weight that bared down upon his shoulders.

"Next town is a three day ride from here," Sebastian said, riding a little way ahead of the heir.

"I say we head north to Hummingbird, see if we can't pick up the trail of a man or two."

When Ciel didn't respond to his plans he turned back to find the heir crying into his gloved hand. He pulled on Diablo's reins, stilled his stride, stared as the boy sobbed. Ciel rode on right past him, letting his hair fall either side of his face.

"What are you - _wait_."

Sebastian sped up and caught the heir, staring a hole into the side of his head.

" _You_ were the one who wanted to leave!" He barked.

Ciel sniffled and shook his head. He narrowed his eyes and looked at the man like he were stupid.

"I _did_ want to leave!" He shouted.

Sebastian suddenly looked so confused that the boy might’ve laughed if he weren’t so miserable. The hunter scanned his face, curled his lip as he registered the anguished expression on the boy’s face.

He scowled, bunched his fists around Diablo’s reins and rode further on ahead, muttering Spanish curses under his breath. Soon he was just a speck of black on the prairie ahead, but Ciel made no effort to catch up.

He continued to cry into Rabbit's mane, tears landing in her speckled hide.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

 

Sebastian woke to snow.

His entire body ached. The earth was bitter and unforgiving, stiff under his throbbing shoulder. He blinked the flakes from his lashes, rubbed at the stubble that dusted his jaw. 

It was dark. The fire had dwindled, hissing as flecks of wet snow hit the embers. From across the camp the door to Ciel's tent caught in the breeze, untied and open. Sebastian sat up on his elbows and peered out into the dark.

The heir was gone.

Sebastian ignored the stab of panic that woke him the rest of the way up. He sat up and scanned the horizon, holding his breath to catch the slightest sound. He could hear the horses to his left, the crackling fire.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, throwing back his blankets.

He found Ciel a little way from camp, his pale body like a whisp of smoke against the black sky. He wore only his pyjamas, legs bare and just as white as the snow that layered the earth.

"You're gon' freeze off your toes off if you stay out here any longer, heiress."

Ciel gave no indication of having heard him. He didn't move until Sebastian had stalked up the little incline that he stood upon. Then he glanced to the side and wiped his cheek. Sebastian was marvelled at the amount of tears the boy had in him. Surely he'd run dry eventually.

"Sebastian," he said softly, in lieu of a greeting.

He crossed his arms over his chest and raised his chin. In the faint light Sebastian could see how the boy shivered, how his shoulders and nose were pink with ice.

"Go back to camp," Sebastian said.

Ciel sniffled and ignored him, still hugging his narrow waist like it might bide away the impossible cold. The hunter exhaled and nudged a rock across the frigid dirt, crossing his own arms.

"Bad dreams?" He guessed.

Ciel finally turned to look at him, gave him the smallest of nods. He smoothed down his hair like it mattered out here, to look presentable in the dead of night.

"Yes," he said. "Very bad."

Sebastian looked back at the camp, the speck of fire like a beacon in the black. He didn't say anything but didn't leave either. Eventually Ciel let go of a tension he'd been holding. He swallowed, cast Sebastian a wary look.

"I dreamt about the maggot," the heir admitted.

"You gon' recognise him if you see his poster?"

Ciel nodded with a deep-set fury.

"I can't forget him," he insisted. "He had these eyes, the strangest colour."

"What colour?"

Ciel gestured to his own eye, mouth opening and closing once or twice before he spoke.

"Like apple cider," he finally said.

Something about his careful choice of words triggered a queer feeling in the hunter's belly.

"I can still feel his hands on me." He swallowed, wet his mouth with his tongue. "Rough, like they could peel my skin off."

"Did he rape you?" Sebastian blurted.

He had to know. Ciel looked at him and twitched his nose, faint dusting of blush across the bridge of it.

"No. None of them did. Contrary to what the papers say I've never been touched."

Sebastian exhaled. Ciel looked back at the valley that lay ahead, releasing a breath of his own.

"They left me alone mostly. But the maggot, he kept k-kissing me. Like it was nothing for him... To do that while they, while they defiled my brother."

Sebastian could see the boy wasn't looking at the desert anymore. He was lost in his memories. The situation chilled the man worse than the snow. Flecks of it caught in the heir's fringe but he was too deep in his thoughts to notice.

"I remember _everything_ about him," Ciel continued, staring dead ahead like the maggot would manifest before them both.

"His voice, the way he smelt. He had this scar right here," he added, tapping the side of his jaw.

Sebastian's stomach knotted like a nest of cottonmouths.

"A scar?" He echoed.

Ciel blinked out of his reverie, nodded and turned to look the hunter in the eye. His finger still lingered on the side of his cheek, tracing the same pattern over and over.

"Yes," he said. "In the shape of a crescent moon."

Sebastian's chest seized and his heart stopped beating. He felt crushed, pinned under a weight so wide nothing could shift it. For an instant he couldn't even breathe, just stare dumbly at the way the heir traced his cheek.

Eventually Ciel looked back at the horizon, but Sebastian was petrified in place.

When his heart began to thump again, it ached in the most torturous way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE come and speak to me about this one on Tumblr!! Leave a comment/kudos If you enjoyed it :D


	12. Hummingbird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, Happy New Year! Thank you for an incredible 2018 - heres to a 2019 with more updates!! Please feel free to follow me on Tumblr (bun-o-ween)
> 
> Special thank you to Jinx for helping me with my Spanish, even though I never ended up using the line. It means a great deal to me.
> 
> And to peekaboo-desu, for being my infallible sounding board. For believing in me when I don't believe in myself, and giving me encouraging feedback when I need it most.

**PART TWO**

 

 

Something dulcet licked the air and Sebastian’s face screwed up.

Ciel’s perfume was like syrup, impossible to rid of once it stuck to your skin - and twice as sweet. He rode downwind from the heir, breeze kissing the nape of his neck. Rabbit clip-clopped behind him, the two horses and their men picking a careful trail down the shallow, orange slope.

When the bounty hunter glanced up he could see Arizona. She was a grey slip on the horizon, far in distance and thought. The same could not be said for Ciel, whose existence hung over Sebastian, heavier than the midday sun.

“You’re being quiet,” said the heir.

Sebastian wiped his glove across his brow, blinking the sweat that stung his eyes.

“I like quiet,” Sebastian muttered.

Rabbit’s gait picked up and the heir rode up beside him, staring a hole into the side of his head.

“Sebastian, look at me.”

Regretfully, he did.

“You’re brooding,” Ciel said, tongue moving like he loved the taste of his own words.

Sebastian allowed himself to stare at the heir's concerned face. His hair was brushed to one side, twisted into a complicated braid. The hunter’s lip curled at the sight, a trick he’d learned from Soma no doubt.

The other half of his hair fell over his cheek but did little to disguise his scar. It divided the peach-like swell of his cheek, the same colour as his sunburnt nose.

“Ain’t brooding.”

It was the most he’d looked at Ciel since they’d left Calliope. He didn’t want to see his face, the dusk-pink line that ruined him. It hadn’t bothered Sebastian before but in the past two days he could think of little else.

The scar, and his father.

“Something’s disturbing you,” Ciel pushed.

 _If only you knew_ , Sebastian thought to himself.

“Ain't nothing disturbing me but the sound of your voice.”

He kicked Diablo's side and left Ciel behind in the dust. The boy clicked his tongue in a way that told Sebastian he wasn't satisfied with his answer.

“Sebastian, don't -” he started, paused to take a second and breathe. “Good Lord, it's _warm_.”

Sebastian stared him down through his eyelashes. The boy’s face was pinkish, mouth wet where his tongue darted out and licked to keep the dry, spring day from chapping his lips.

“You gon' faint?”

“No,” he replied rudely, sitting higher in his saddle.

He made a face so conceited that Sebastian was glad to turn his back on it. The second he did came the tell-tale sound of the boy slumping in his saddle.

Sebastian felt every muscle in his body bunch up. The sun beat down on his back, Diablo readjusted his weight as he halted him to a stop. He lead her over to Rabbit and snared her reins before she could wander off.

“Wake the fuck up!” He yelled at Ciel's slumped figure.

Rabbit pinned her ears back, stamped her feet at the shouting that drifted down the desert mountainside and into thin, dry air. But Ciel remained unconscious, his mouth slightly parted and his fingers relaxed where they fell by the mare’s neck.

Sebastian balled up his fist, grit his jaw. He sat up and scanned the horizon. For miles there was nothing but sand, and the town of Hummingbird was another day's ride. Off to the east he could discern a crop of jagged rock, hazy like a mirage.

He yanked Rabbit's reins and he took her, and her sleeping master, off the worn trail and into soft, untrodden sand.

An average man would have mistaken it for an arid canyon. But Sebastian, although hot and distressed, was not average. The tension bled from his shoulders as they rode between the rock faces and for the first time that day shade fell over his back.

The sand gave way to grass, thick and lush and damp, the horses kicking up fresh mud as they pushed deeper. The air smelt like water, the chatter of birds and horse hooves echoing up the flat, peach-coloured cliffs and into the pale sky. He let go of Rabbit's reins and she went to the river that cut it's way between the rock, wide but gentle.

Ciel remained recumbent on her back.

“Heiress?”

The boy's hair rustled like the grass, and the only reply Sebastian received was the echo of his own voice. Ciel was never out longer than a minute, and the knowledge had Sebastian's chest clamp in panic. His gut curled into a cold knot and he dismounted Diablo with haste. He ran across the grass to Rabbit, so fast mud splattered his trousers.

“Heiress!”

He reached Ciel and cupped his tepid face between his hands. He shook him, pushed the hair back off his face and smacked his cheek. _Nothing_. Not even the flutter of an eyelash.

“ _Dios mio_ ,” he hissed. “No, no no no no.”

He yanked the kid out of his saddle and hitched him against his chest, wading out into the stream. Water flooded his boots, stuck his trousers to his legs. He was unable to appreciate the blissful temperature of it, his arms curled tight around Ciel's delicate frame. His head fell into the crook of his arm, hair catching the stream as he went deeper and deeper.

When the water came over his knees he felt the heir tremble, and freezing hot fingers of dread curled under his ribs. Ciel convulsed, over and over. Sebastian felt so sick he couldn't breathe, his chest burning with the ache of quietly suffocating himself.

Ciel shook again.

And then giggled.

Sebastian stopped dead and stared down at one river-blue eye.

“You're fine,” he muttered, voice hardly louder than the slow moving water.

Ciel combed his hair away from his fringe and smiled up at Sebastian, biting his lip until it tugged free, wet and red.

“I am,” he admitted.

Sebastian's law locked. His expression made Ciel laugh again, hand pushing over his own mouth to try stifle it. The noise made Sebastian's blood boil, his limbs liquify, and his heart thump with rage. He tightened his arms around the petite figure and marched deeper into the stream.

“What are you doing?” Ciel said, voice no longer amused.

He went rigid, tried to wriggle upright but Sebastian constricted him in place. He pushed his tongue into his cheek when the boy squirmed, tried to stifle the primal satisfaction of conquering something so little with his own raw strength.

“Sebastian, wait!” He shouted, voice echoing. “I just wanted to see -”

He screamed when Sebastian threw him into the river. He disappeared under the surface with a splash, and for a moment there was pure, uninterrupted silence.

Sebastian stared at the ripple that had swallowed Ciel, ran his tongue over his teeth and breathed it in.

When he broke the surface it was ruined, the canyon reverberating with spluttered choking and wailing limbs. Grey hair glued to Ciel's face, his clothes to his chest, and when the heir wiped the water from his face he began to laugh even harder.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!” Sebastian shouted, wading through the water to shove him down again.

Ciel shrieked in delight when he pushed him, falling under the surface only to push back up and slip out of the hunter's grip like a puppy. The harder he pushed the more hysterical Ciel became, his cheeks filled with colour and his chest rose and fell with full-bodied, unbridled giggles.

“You're _so_ angry,” Ciel gasped between hiccups, smiling wider when Sebastian's eyes narrowed into slits. “Don't you know how to have fun?”

Sebastian swiped and caught a fistful of Ciel’s hair, used it to push him under the water and keep him there until bubbles boiled to the surface. The boy thrashed, his leg darting out to kick Sebastian’s shin. The hard, little heel bruised his bone, made him grunt and stagger back in surrender.

Sebastian grabbed at Ciel's ankle and yanked it up so high the kid choked on a mouthful of river and the smile dropped right from his rude lips. Panting, he pulled back the curtain of his hair and glared at the black leather fingers wrapped around his black leather boot.

“I know how to have fun,” Sebastian said.

He tugged at the laces until they fell apart, slipped the boot right off the heir's foot along with his soaked sock. He screwed it up and threw it at the kid, whose upturned nose only wrinkled in further distaste.

He jerked back his leg but Sebastian curled his fist around the now naked ankle. His fingers almost touched, the pad of his middle finger sitting snug against the junction of leg and foot. Ciel's toes, like the rest of him, were small and pretty, and when he pressed his thumb into the arch of his foot they splayed involuntarily.

It made Sebastian snort, and the sudden noise broke the reverie and made him realise what he were doing. He dropped Ciel's leg as quick as he had picked it up and took a step back. He looked down at the boot in his hand, then back up at the oddly silent Louisianian.

Ciel raised an eyebrow, and Sebastian turned and threw his boot as far up the river as he could pitch it.

The expression on Ciel's face was better than the cold water. The heir stood and stared dumbly at the ripple where his boot had disappeared. His mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. He looked at Sebastian, curled his hands into fists - and he screamed.

Sebastian took great delight in watching Ciel stalk downstream, weighed down by the water dripping off his clothes. He stumbled on the slippery pebbles, falling back into the stream with an aborted cry, followed by a splash.

The corner of Sebastian's mouth curled up and for a moment he forgot about the seed of dread that had been wedged between his ribs since Ciel told him the man who killed his brother had eyes just like his father.

When the memory returned it was heavier than the water on his clothes, and it was difficult to drag himself out of both the river and the thought. Water spilled out of his shoes and sleeves, fell and dried against the sun-hot pebbles and dribbled from the inkish ends of his hair.

He turned back and watched Ciel wading through the knee-deep stream, back bowed as he looked for his boot. The sight felt bittersweet, and Sebastian couldn't find the motivation to look any longer.

His heart felt hard and heavy like the rocks beneath his boots.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

The sheriff’s office smelt like tobacco and paper.

The floorboards creaked when Sebastian paced across them. He could feel the sheriff getting irritated with him but he could not stop. If he stood still he’d go insane. He needed to keep pace with the nervous thumping in his chest, the throb only exacerbated the longer Ciel went without speaking.

The kid was picking through wanted posters, a cold cup of tea he’d so politely accepted sitting by the pile. The sheriff watched with mild interest, occasionally shaking his head like he couldn't believe how focused the eighteen-year-old had become. Sebastian didn't blame him. Not many men possessed the type of stubborn dedication Ciel did.

Sebastian had tried lingering over his shoulder, scanning the faces and unintelligible words as Ciel browsed. He wasn't sure if his father had a wanted poster. He didn't _want_ to know. But his lingering had distressed Ciel, and the kid had glowered up through his lashes until the hunter stalked off to the opposite side of the station.

Outside, the town of Hummingbird was bustling and loud, the noise smothered by the thick glass windows. But the dust found its way inside, collecting on Sebastian's boots as he watched the traffic pass. He grew bored of it quick enough, chest fluttering like a bird was trapped inside.

Finally Ciel sat up, cleared his throat, and presented a poster to the sheriff.

“Kasper Kennedy,” the man said aloud.

The sheriff shook his head and combed his fingers through his thinning hair.

“Good luck kid,” he continued. “Last I heard, Kennedy was headed for Wasatch county.”

Ciel turned to Sebastian.

“He's right,” the hunter told him, somewhat regretfully. “Once he gets into the forest he ain't gon’ be easy to find. I've never been that far north, Kennedy will have the upper hand.”

The heir pressed his lips into a line and turned back to the poster.

“I intend to pursue him,” he said without glancing up from it.

“It's over a week's ride,” Sebastian complained. “Maybe two, if you carry on the way you're fond of.”

The sheriff coughed and covered his mouth with his fist. Ciel's cheeks filled with colour, the ends of his ears burning, as he turned around and leveled Sebastian with a look colder than a boy that young should be able to muster.

“I don’t care if it takes a year,” Ciel hissed. “I want Kasper Kennedy’s damned head.”

Sebastian couldn't help the way his mouth quirked up, the sensation of his stomach unknotting at the talk of Ciel killing again. It felt like familiar territory, like something Sebastian had innately missed.

“Wasatch county it is,” he agreed.

Ciel smiled, tight-lipped and insincere, and turned back to the posters on the desk. The bounty hunter turned back to the window, keeping an eye on their horses tied outside.

Eventually, after the sound of a dozen flipped pages, Ciel sat up again and flattened out a second poster.

“Another one,” he said - and Sebastian stiffened.

He couldn't make out the features of the sketch from across the room, nor read the name printed beneath it, but he didn't need to. He'd seen the poster before. He had a copy of it, folded up in a square inside his saddlebag.

“Jesse Bluit,” Ciel read, then looked at Sebastian. “Do you know him?”

Sebastian felt the tendon in his neck jump. _His father's right hand man_.

He took his time to walk over, unable to take his eyes off the drawing. It wasn't entirely accurate, the posters never were. But he recognised the same thing Ciel did, the face of a man that had caused them great pain could not be easily forgotten.

“No,” Sebastian forced past the lump in his throat. “I don't know him. Was he there that night?”

 _A stupid question_ , he told himself.

“Yes,” said Ciel.

“Are you sure?”

Ciel looked up at the man with a hurt look thinly masked behind anger. He swallowed, held the paper tight enough to crinkle it.

“Yes I'm sure,” he bit, standing up so fast his chair squeaked.

He put the poster of Jesse Bluit beside the one of Kasper Kennedy, smoothed his hands along the edges and considered them both with quiet, brooding contemplation.

“Okay,” Sebastian said, in lack of a more intelligent response.

He swallowed and crossed his arms, unable to continue looking at Bluit’s face.

He wasn't okay. Nothing was okay.

Jesse Bluit never went anywhere without his father - and when Kasper Kennedy was dead Ciel would want to find him next.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Two months ago Ciel would not have cared if Sebastian never spoke to him again.

But now the bounty hunter had unofficially declared himself a mute, Ciel found himself missing his voice. His deep, oddly-accented drawl. The way he spoke from his throat, like his chest rumbled with words.

He ached for it in a way he never could have imagined. The silence was the desert, and Sebastian's voice a drink of water.

“Sebastian?”

The man sat across the fire from him, cleaning his rifle. It was the second time he'd done it that night and it was starting to rub Ciel the wrong way. He didn't look up when Ciel spoke. He paid no mind to him at all.

Ciel wondered what he'd done wrong. He wondered if his existence was simply tiring to Sebastian - if the man had grown tired of his voice, and his hair, and all the other things he said he hated about Ciel. He wondered if Sebastian was finally going to ride off and desert him like he'd threatened to do a million times.

“Sebastian,” he said again, louder. “Are you worried about Wasatch?”

The hunter's hand paused on his rifle and he finally looked up. A small part of Ciel cheered. Sebastian's mouthed tugged down, his eyes unblinking.

“No,” he told the heir.

Then he went back to cleaning his gun. Ciel mouthed _oh_ with his lips. He pressed his thumb into a bruise on his knee, rubbed his legs together where the silk of his pajamas exposed them to the moonlight.

He knew Sebastian hated when he wore the skimpy set, would always curl his lip at the sight of his naked legs. But tonight he ignored them, ignored every inch of Ciel.

“Sebastian?”

This time, Sebastian sighed and looked up without fuss. Ciel swallowed and rubbed his silk shirt between thumb and forefinger.

“Would you make me sofkee?” He asked, in his nicest possible voice. “Please,” he added when the man didn't answer.

“No,” he mumbled.

Ciel's heart sunk. He sat up on his knees and ignored the little rocks that dug into his shins.

“Why won't you speak to me?”

He'd intended to sound cool and calm, but his voice hitched on the end. He was beginning to feel insane.

“I ain't have nothing to say to you,” the hunter replied.

Ciel's fingers brushed over the sand and it collected under his nails. His chest felt tight, his heart wormed into his throat, making it hard to breathe. The black night around them seemed too dark, suffocatingly close. It was so quiet he could hear every sound that came from the void - real, and imagined.

“Have I done something?" He asked.

Sebastian clicked the last piece of his rifle in place and he stood. He turned it back and forth in the light, admiring his work. When he was done he looked down at the boy and it made Ciel feel even smaller.

“You're pissing me off,” he said.

Ciel's stomach sunk as he watched Sebastian put on his jacket and head for Diablo.

“Where are you going?”

“Town,” he said over his shoulder. 

Ciel got up and hurried after him. Sebastian brushed past Ciel, Diablo's reins in his fist. The horse spared Ciel a brief sniffle and followed his master.

“Sebastian, wait,” he said, voice high and breathy.

The man stopped, his clothes and his horse bleeding into the dark. The crickets chirped louder, made the hair on Ciel's arms stand up.

“Don't leave me out here alone.”

Sebastian's face caught the light of the fire, his eyes bright and flickering. He turned and walked back, relief flooding Ciel's veins. But he only handed his rifle to the eighteen-year-old, pressing the cool metal to his chest. He turned to go again but Ciel grabbed a fist of his jacket.

“Don't -” he started, and stopped. He swallowed. “Being out here alone, it makes me nervous.”

 _Petrified_ , he corrected to himself.

“Ain't my job to make you feel safe,” the hunter growled, bite back in his voice.

He shook his arm free of Ciel's grip, shouldered past him so rough it made the heir stumble back. He curled his arms around the rifle and held onto it, closing his eyes and swallowing the rock lodged in his throat.

"When will you be back?" He asked to Sebastian's shoulders.

"Midnight," he replied. 

Ciel's chest filled with fluttering insects. “Promise?”

Sebastian gave him a once over, lingering on the way he kept the rifle hugged to his chest.

“Yeah,” he said.

Then he turned and walked off, and Ciel was left alone with the gun and the darkness, and the overwhelming rope of anxiety wrapped tight around his gut.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

_Don't lie to me._

Sebastian glared at the finger of whiskey left inside the bottle. The rest of it was inside him, on his tongue and the back of his teeth. In his stomach, making him so drunk he couldn't get up from the table even if he wanted to.

The saloon was loud. The piano clanged artlessly, the floor shook and creaked with staggered footsteps. The light was low and Sebastian had tucked his way into a dark corner with his back against the wall. He watched the shadows of men and prostitutes through the remaining liquor before shooting it back like water.

"Another, sir?"

Sebastian looked up and had to squint his eyes to make out the figure of the bartender. No one had ever called him sir before. Then again, he'd never purchased the largest, most expensive bottle from the bar before either.

"What's the time?" He asked the bartender, tongue heavy like his head.

"It's almost midnight, sir. Would you like another drink?"

His thoughts went to Ciel. The way he slept, his nightmares. If he went back now he'd catch the start of them, the horrible, rabbit-like shriek he'd yet to grow immune to. He’d always wondered, this morbidly curious part of him, what Ciel dreamt off, and who he saw.

Now he knew.

“Yes,” he told the bartender. “Another bottle.”

The thrum of humans became distant, the piano echoing and warbled like it played beneath the water. Sebastian pressed his back into his seat and tried to focus on the shapes that moved across the room. He could barely see, hardly feel his tongue - but his mind still thought of Ciel.

_Don’t hurt me, or let me get hurt._

He should abandon the kid. Take Diablo, ride off now before the sun came up. He could be halfway across the state before the heir even realised.

_And I want to shoot one man in particular._

He should go. Leave. Abandon Ciel. It was for the best. He ran his tongue across his teeth, felt how bitter the liquor clung to them. Ciel would never reward him with his fortune when he found out who was responsible for the massacre. He would most likely shoot Sebastian, after shooting his father.

That, or his father would kill Ciel first.

Sebastian flinched when the new bottle of whiskey was placed on the table before him. The bartender gave him a new glass too, but Sebastian ignored it. He took a drink direct from the bottle, gulping until he felt the burning liquor eat away at the edges of his thoughts.

He was halfway through the bottle, and it was well past midnight, when the woman approached him.

He watched her come down the stairs, her skirts like ink, the _click_ of her heels on the wooden floor. He could tell from her perfume she was a whore. He didn’t look at her face, only sighed when she pressed against his side and soothed her fingers through the back of his hair.

She was buttering him up.

He didn’t need that, to be wooed. It was just sex. He’d never kissed a woman and he would never marry either. He wanted to shake her away but the touch was gentle, and he hadn’t felt anything like it in a long, long time.

"Hello, handsome.”

He looked up into her face and saw a woman so similar to his mamá that he choked.

His chest ached. His heart fell. The oblivious woman continued to stroke his hair, tucked some of it behind his ear, and gave him a slow and promising smile. Sebastian opened his mouth but his words stuck to his throat.

“Go away,” he slurred.

He closed his eyes and swallowed, forced himself to turn his cheek and lose the touch against his nape. The woman lingered and the pressure in Sebastian’s chest surged up and became liquid heat.

“Váyase!” He yelled, standing up from his table. "Get away from me!"

He shoved the woman, her startled face blurry to Sebastian. Her heels clattered as she stumbled back and bumped into a patron. Sebastian's chair fell back and cracked against the floor. He felt a dozen eyes narrow and linger on him, eating away at his skin, the murmur of low whispers.

He wasn't surprised when the bartender asked him to leave.

He took his half-empty bottle to the edge of town and stared out in the direction of his camp. He couldn't force himself to walk another step, so he found a dark, crooked alley and crawled, literally, inside of it.

The liquor numbed his mouth, numbed his fingers and his legs. It numbed his body but not his mind, made him lazy but unable to forget the one thing he so desperately wished to erase. He screwed up his face, closed his eyes and his stomach churned at the picture he unwillingly conjured.

Blood on Ciel's fair skin, his mouth open in pain. The sound of his voice, raw with hurt and pitched high in panic. Hands that pushed against a heavy weight, his cries swallowed with a kiss. Blonde stubble rubbing his maw pink. His father, kissing Ciel - and then shooting him in the head.

Sebastian lurched forward and threw up on himself. The sick seeped into his shirt, mostly whiskey, and bled down onto his stomach, to his trousers. He wretched again, his stomach empty and his throat burning. It dripped off his chin, his nose, and when he was void of all liquor he fell back against the wall behind him and luxuriated in his self-loathing.

Running his tongue across his teeth he considered the rest of the bottle. He’d heard of men that had died from drinking too much alcohol before. But, he thought to himself as he had another drink, he had never been that lucky.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel looked like hell incarnate.

His hair in two plaits, pinned back into a halo around his head. _Like a crown_ , Sebastian considered, as he stumbled up the slope that lead to camp.

He stared for too long at Ciel's legs, slowly working his way up to the rifle that was aimed at Sebastian's chest. The bounty hunter exhaled, examined Ciel's lip, chewed red, and the dark shadows that gathered beneath his eyelashes.

"Where were you?" Ciel asked, voice raw.

Sebastian looked past the kid's shoulder and saw coffee brewing over the fire. His mouth tasted of stale bile, his head stuffed with cotton. He took a step towards the fire but Ciel raised the rifle higher, his arm trembling with it's weight.

"Where were you!"

Sebastian stepped forward again and Ciel met him. The thin end of his rifle hit his chest, forced a grunt between his teeth. This close he could see Ciel had been crying.

Silver tracks of it stayed glued to his cheeks, dried up like the sea, salt crumbling as his face turned up in displeasure. Sebastian followed the heir's gaze down his own chest, shirt soiled with his own sick. He could feel it in his hair too, sticking to his cheek.

 _You did this to me_ , he wanted to say. _You made me sick_.

"I need coffee," he said instead.

He tried to step past Ciel but the heir held him back with the rifle. Sebastian grunted, took the barrel and yanked it right from his hands. The heir gasped, watched with one, wide eye as he sat it on the sand and pushed past Ciel to the fire. The heir ran after him, cut him off before he could reach it.

"You said midnight," Ciel said between his teeth.

Sebastian looked past his plaited crown and at the coffee so close to his possession.

"Move, princess."

Ciel's face fell and his cheeks filled with furious colour. When Sebastian moved past him again he shoved the hunter with all his might, ineffectual hands colliding with the cushion of his pectoral muscle. 

“Hey!” Ciel cried, his voice breaking. “You said _midnight!_ ”

Sebastian plucked up Ciel's hand and squeezed his narrow wrist. It fit perfectly inside the ring of his fingers, so small and bird-like that the kid sobbed in pain when he squeezed with only a fraction of his strength. It would be easy to break, he considered as he squeezed again - then let Ciel go. The boy stumbled back, clutching his tender wrist to his heaving chest.

With Ciel out of his hair Sebastian dropped down on his knees and shuffled towards the fire. He poured himself a cup of coffee, so tired and so drunk that it overfilled and seeped into his glove. He swore, shook his hand to rid the searing pain. He took a mouthful of the coffee - gagged, and immediately spat it on the sand.

"Fuck," he muttered, glaring up at the kid. "Stop making coffee! You're fucking bad at it."

Ciel went uncharacteristically quiet. He sucked in a breath that made his whole body tremble. He let go of his wrist, only to curl both arms around himself. He looked very young, suddenly the eighteen-year-old he so stubbornly pretended he wasn't.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Sebastian blurted, still rolling the taste of burnt coffee around on his tongue. "You look like shit," he added.

Ciel rubbed the heel of his hand against his eye and trembled again.

"I didn't sleep," he mumbled.

Sebastian snorted. He didn't mean to laugh, it just fell out - the sound just as empty and miserable as he was. A knee-jerk reaction whenever he saw something vulnerable. Hurt it, before it hurts him.

'Why?" He got to his feet and staggered over to the heir until he loomed over him. "Can't sleep without me?"

He expected Ciel to blush. Slap him, at the very least. What he did not expect was for the heir to look up, his eye glassy with tears, and press his mouth into a thin line of absolute silence. 

The kid took a step back but Sebastian reached out and grabbed his hips. He pressed his gloved thumb to the puppy fat beneath green silk, dug them in until the sharp press of hipbones met his palm. Ciel's sulk bled into a glare, his body bristling as Sebastian dragged him close and stooped to press their noses together.

"You promised," Ciel whispered, his nose bending under the pressure of the bounty hunter's.

"I don't give a _fuck_ about you," Sebastian said back, very, very slowly.

Ciel closed his eye and inhaled. Then he sobbed, and fresh tears spilt down one side of his face. He tried to wipe them, tried to cover his mouth and smother the distressed, hysterical sound he made as he cried. 

 _Good_ , Sebastian told himself. Let him hate you now, rather than later. Make him walk away before he ever found out who he really was.

But his bitter thoughts made him feel no better. His resolute crumbled the longer Ciel cried. Out of all the nasty things he'd done in his life, making Ciel Phantomhive cry might have been the worst.

"Heiress," he tried - staring dumbly at the damage he had done.

Ciel refused to look at him. He kept pawing at the stream of tears, unable to stem the flow. Sebastian exhaled and looked at the river. It looked awfully inviting, dark and cool, and deep enough to hide from Ciel.

So he staggered down toward it, slipping on the loose rocks and grazing his hand. The amount of liquor in his bloodstream meant he didn't feel it. He wished he had. He blinked at the sluggish line of blood that dripped down his fingers and tugged at his clothes until they fell in a pile at his boots.

But he couldn't unbutton his shirt.

His fingers felt thick, uncoordinated. He was still horrifyingly drunk, and it showed in the artless way he fumbled with his buttons. He gave up and tried to tear it, but could not even manage the basic task of removing his shirt from his head. He let the fabric dangled in a loop around his throat and chose to ignore it, and stumbled out into the river wearing nothing else.

He dipped under the water and when he resurfaced he came up clean of dirt, of blood and bile. The river washed it all away, everything but the heavy feeling in his chest. The water was only waist-high but Sebastian stayed down so low it covered his mouth. Submerged he had the perfect view of Ciel staring at him from camp.

He looked Ciel in the eyes, _eye_ , and spat a mouthful of water downstream. The heir shouted something, but Sebastian couldn't hear it with his ears beneath the water. He watched the kid storm off, and eventually the man relaxed and let his head tip back into the stream. 

When Ciel came back he was clutching a bar of soap and wading into the stream in his pyjamas. Looking up, Sebastian choked, pinned to the spot he sat in as Ciel's skinny legs cut through the stream like a crane.

"Come here," he said.

He was still crying when he reached the bounty hunter, who could only stare. His green shorts blackened where the water seeped into them. One side of his hair came loose and a plait uncoiled along his back.

The heir glared at the torn remains of his shirt looped once around his neck and exhaled, shaking his head like he couldn't believe how stupid the hunter was. Sebastian couldn't believe it either. His face burnt with mortification when the heir rid him off the ruined shirt and flung it back to shore.

"Hold still," he said, and began to lather Sebastian's hair with soap.

It was the same soap he used on his own hair. The smell made Sebastian's eyelids droop, and if he were sober he might have bristled and complained that it was hardly a masculine scent. But, with short fingernails playing with the back of his head, and two bottles of whiskey in his stomach and stuck to his hair, he gave in and let the Louisianan wash him.

Ciel's gentle tugging reminded him of the birds that picked lice off cattle. He felt like a cow. Like a stupid, cumbersome cow. 

 _I don't deserve this_ , he thought to himself. But he leaned his head into the touch and took it, staring at the flickering prism-like reflections of water that sparkled on the heir's upper thigh.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian was broad.

Tall, and broad. His muscles in his wide, wide shoulders bunched and glistened as he rinsed his hair. He stood up and shook his head, droplets running down his spine, between his shoulder-blades, over the scar from his bullet wound. Ciel followed the water down as the man turned, the sunshine catching on his iliac crest, the muscles in his stomach contracting.

And Ciel's gaze went lower, and lower.

The water cut him off an inch beneath the hunter's bellybutton. It was a nice enough inch to stare at, tan and warm, speckled in water that sparkled when the light caught it. Ciel chewed his lip and sighed, stretching his legs out on the sun-hot sand.

Cabin fever, he reasoned with himself.

There was no other explanation as to why he was taking catalogue of every one of Sebastian's muscles. _Sebastian_. Dumb, cruel, murderous Sebastian. Sebastian, whose bicep was thicker than Ciel's thigh. Whose chest was so broad the middle button of his shirts always strained.

Ciel had lived on pinto beans and peach preserve for weeks. It made sense, he figured, that the only piece of meat around eventually started to look good to him.

That was it, he promised. There was no deeper meaning. The sunshine and the isolation made him deranged. That, and the tragedy of losing his family. Ciel could not be blamed for staring. His breath caught when the man glanced up, eyelashes impossibly longer when wet.

"Heiress," he said.

Ciel swallowed at the deep timbre of his voice, ignoring that the reason why it sounded so rough and _so good_ was because the man had thrown up on himself.

"What?"

Ciel raised his chin and looked away, doing his best impression of his mother. He even flicked his hair back over his shoulder, wavy where the river dried it. 

"You can go to sleep now," the man said.

He nudged his chin at the camp ground, and Ciel ignored him. He did want to sleep. He was going delusional, obviously. But the teenager couldn't stand even if he wanted to. He was half-hard against his thigh, his pyjamas still damp and incredibly incriminating.

"Soon," Ciel mumbled.

He forced himself to think of things that would cool his blood. The memory of how his eye looked without the patch. Pinto beans. Diablo. His brother.

But in the end it was something Sebastian said that made him so bitterly unaroused that he was able to stand and walk back to camp.

_I don't give a fuck about you._

_……………………………………………………………………………_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this chapter leave a comment and kudos, and let me know!! Or come talk to me on Tumblr (bun-o-ween) :D


	13. Wasatch

Ciel’s skin crawled with Sebastian’s attention.

Despite knowing the stare was anything less than appreciative, the heir sat high in his saddle and pulled his new coat closer to his chest. It was the cause for Sebastian’s distress, the garment made from the blonde fur of coyote pelts.

He looked up and caught the bounty hunter glaring at him and the heat of satisfaction curled inside his stomach. As of late Ciel had found himself craving the man’s attention – good or bad. Hewas not able to curb his fixation towards the man, so he luxuriated in it instead.

“What?” He said to Sebastian, raising his chin. “They're dead, ain’t like they’re going to need their skin no more.”

Sebastian's eyes narrowed and Ciel pressed his lips together so he wouldn’t smirk. He cast another disgusted once-over of Ciel’s outfit and the boy delighted in it.

“Huh,” the bounty hunter said, lip curled. “It makes you look every part the spoiled, wicked, Southern cunt I always knew you were.”

Ciel's heart skipped a beat but his mouth turned up in a smile.

“Thank you,” he purred, only souring Sebastian’s mood.

He nudged Rabbit forward and caught up to the man, riding so close he could see the way the cold bit at Sebastian’s skin.

“I must say,” he started, lowering his voice an octave. “You cut an impressive figure in that coat, Sebastian.”

The man glanced up, expression stuck halfway between startled and livid. Ciel's sight lingered on the new coat he had purchased for him, ink black and tailored perfectly.

“You look handsome in black,” he added. “It matches your heart.”

“Bite me,” the hunter growled.

Ciel laughed, the sound coming out of his mouth with a puff of cloud. The land around them had cooled considerably, the snow-capped mountains ahead no longer a distant, purple haze.

In the week since leaving Hummingbird the terrain had changed from dry, terracotta desert, to rolling hills speckled with green tufts of grass. The longer they rode, the taller the grass became, until eventually they travelled through fields of wildflowers and the occasional tree. It made Ciel hunger for the comfort of Calliope, his heart stinging like the frost that laden the earth.

And then the Wasatch mountains loomed above them, the slopping hills at their base lush green when the sky kissed the swaying grass. Ciel was mighty appreciative of the coyote pelt - quick to miss the heat he'd once scorned.

“This is mountain man territory,” Sebastian said to the view. “My money says Kennedy's squirrelled away up there, hunting elk.”

Ciel had the good grace not to mention Sebastian didn’t have a cent to his name. Instead he looked up at the looming heights and exhaled, his foggy breath joining the cotton clouds strewn across the mountain tops.

“Peachy,” he said. “How do you expect we'll find him?”

Sebastian kicked Diablo’s side and he pressed forward into the tree line, dappled shade landing across his shoulders. Ciel followed in single file behind him, the forestry too thick to ride any closer.

“If we get high enough we gon' see smoke when Kennedy settles down for the night,” the man explained.

Ciel twitched his nose.

“So no fire tonight,” Ciel said.

He stuck out his bottom lip and glared when the hunter turned back to look at him, the ghost of a smirk on the corner of his lips.

“You’ll be fine,” he said to the heir, glancing down at his thick coat. “Ain’t you cold-blooded anyway?”

Ciel locked his jaw and refused to acknowledge the way the man’s smug expression made his skin prickle. He fixed his eyes to the man’s back the second he turned around, staring daggers at his broad, broad shoulders and the way his hair collected in a bun at the nape of his neck.

 _Lord_ , how he loved to hate Sebastian Michaelis.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

The night was quiet and still.

Sebastian climbed to the top of a flat rock and faced the sprawling void of black trees and glimmering stars. Moonlight caught the thin line of a silver river and kissed the tops of the foliage. Sebastian sat down and scanned the horizon, ignoring the natural splendour in favour of finding smoke.

The silence was spoiled by the tumble of pebbles, the scrape of a boot against rock. Sebastian tensed, and then cursed.

“Sebastian,” came an irritatingly familiar call. “Help me.”

The bounty hunter pushed his tongue into his cheek as he stood up, offered a hand to the impatient figure down below. Ciel’s small fingers were lost in the grip of his glove, and if Sebastian squeezed down on them until the boy flinched he could chalk it all up to exertion.

It was hardly an effort to hoist the kid to the top, and once his long legs found purchased he crawled to the centre of the lookout and made himself comfortable.

“Thanks,” he said, voice void of gratitude.

Sebastian sneered at the coat he still wrapped around his figure, twice the boy's size but just as infuriating.

“Keep an eye out for smoke,” he said to the boy before sitting down and turning his back on him.

Ciel hummed and shuffled, wriggling backwards until his shoulders hit Sebastian’s. The men went stiff, holding his breath as the kid pressed against him spine to spine. His fingers balled into a fist and he imagined shoving Ciel so good he toppled backwards and off the rock.

But he didn’t fancy the idea of carrying him back down the mountain with a broken tail bone, so with a loud sigh he allowed the warm weight against his back to settle into place.

“My mom used to tell me a story,” Ciel started, his voice vibrating against Sebastian’s back, “About that constellation, there.”

He pointed up at the heavens and Sebastian followed his finger until he saw the cluster of shining stars.

“Said they appeared when an Indian woman married a star,” the eighteen-year-old whispered, turning just enough to look at Sebastian.

“My mamá told me that story too.”

Ciel shifted to face him, hair luminescent with moonlight. The hunter cleared his throat, uncomfortable with how close the heir sat. He could count all his eyelashes, if he felt inclined.

“What was she like?”

Sebastian revisited the idea of tossing Ciel off the rock. His memories of his mamá swelled up in his chest so large that it smothered him, and when he opened his mouth to reply he could feel the aching way his heart crawled to his throat.

“Beautiful,” he managed to say. “Ain’t never hurt no one.”

She deserved prettier words, but Sebastian was ineloquent and unable to preserve her memory with anything lovelier than the small sentence he had mustered.

Ciel rubbed salt into the man's wound when he smiled – soft and sad, so tender that Sebastian could not hate him for it.

“My mom was beautiful too,” he whispered. “The most beautiful in all Louisiana. Men used to send her flowers almost daily, would have kissed the ground she walked upon. But she only had eyes for my daddy.”

Sebastian huffed.

“And my daddy was just as handsome,” Ciel continued, looking off at nothing in particular, his fingers curled into his coat. “Every one remarked on it. I can still smell his cologne if I close my eyes.”

“Eye,” Sebastian corrected.

The heir's fond expression turned to surprise, then annoyance, and he smacked the bounty hunter's bicep with his closed fist. Then he laughed, quick and airy like he hadn’t meant to.

“You’re insufferable,” he drawled, grin spreading before it melted away again, a frown replacing his smile.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Sebastian shrugged.

“You can’t tell nobody about it,” the heir insisted.

He grabbed Sebastian's arm and squeezed as if to reiterate the seriousness. The man looked down at where they touched, stunned to stupor at the sudden contact.

“Who the fuck am I gon’ tell?” He growled.

“Daddy was consorting with the town mortician,” Ciel rushed, like it physically pained him to keep it hidden any longer.

“The _male_ mortician,” he added, when Sebastian did not react.

Sebastian raised one eyebrow.

“I ain’t surprised you take after the both of them,” he said.

As soon as the words left his mouth he winced. Cold dread settled in his stomach and the silence became uncomfortable. The heir had that sad little smile back on his lips again, preoccupied with memories, or at least possessing the good grace not to ask in which ways he took after his mother.

“What about your brother?” Sebastian grumbled, eager to cover his mistake.

The heir’s face lit up and he appeared so youthful and hopeful that it was as if he were never touched by tragedy. Sebastian’s chest sunk at the thought of what Ciel Phantomhive might have been like if his father hadn’t killed every soul the boy had loved.

“My partner in crime,” said Ciel, interrupting his thoughts.

He looked up at the moon and his expression put the stars to shame.

“My soul mate,” he added.

He grabbed Sebastian's arm again, sitting up on his knees to lean in like he were telling another secret.

“I could feel everything he felt,” Ciel said in a hush. “If he skinned his knee I would feel it – even if we were miles apart.”

“Bullshit,” Sebastian swore.

“It's true,” the heir insisted, face brilliant. “I always knew where he was, what he was doing. I could _feel_ it, Sebastian.”

Then the corners of his smile ebbed away.

“I could feel it when they cut him open,” he said, “and now he’s dead I feel nothing.”

The boy swallowed and looked out at the horizon. He did a poor job of disguising the tears that filled his eye. He smoothed his hair back the way he did when he was anxious, his breath snaring in his throat as the first tear broke free.

“Shit,” Sebastian mumbled, watching it roll down his cheek and sink into the coyote pelt. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

The boy shook his head and pressed his nose into his coat. His shoulders shook as he contained his sobs within the fur.

“It's okay,” he cried, wiping at his cheeks. “I _want_ it to hurt. It reminds me that I love him.”

He looked at Sebastian and his chin wobbled with the effort it took for him to smother his implosion.

“Yeah,” said the bounty hunter. “I know how that feels.”

Ciel wiped his face again and the tears disappeared, swallowed back inside his heaving chest like he'd never cried them in the first place. He offered Sebastian a reassuring smile, the edges of which were terse and well-practiced.

“There,” he said, looking out at something past Sebastian’s shoulder.

The hunter turned and saw the smoke rise in the distance, so slender and pale he was impressed the heir had spotted it.

He turned around to tell him so, but the heir had already climbed off the rock and headed toward the horses.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Kennedy's cabin was far from impressive.

As it came into view from betwixt the trees, Ciel couldn’t help but wonder where the money stolen from his daddy's safe had gone. As the kid took in the broken ceiling and the crooked foundations, he knew for a fact none of it had been used on the building before him.

Before he could step out into the clearing Sebastian reached out and put his hand against Ciel’s chest. The boy stopped dead in his tracks, the bounty hunter glancing back to press one finger to his lips.

 _Stay here_ , he mouthed.

Ciel rolled an eye at him but shuffled back into the trees, falling amongst shadow the dawn had yet to eradicate. He watched the hunter, dressed all in black, push onward with his rifle drawn – up the primitive stairs of the cabin, and without so much as a creak, disappear through the door.

Ciel held his breath to listen but his heart beat louder than the crickets or the rustle of wild grass.

The door flew back open with a _bang_ – Ciel jumped right out of his skin, smothered a frightened shout against his hand. Sebastian strode out alone, rifle resting on his shoulders, the corner of his mouth curved up in a way that suggested he had done that on purpose.

“No one’s home,” he announced to the florid boy crouching in the trees.

Ciel curled his lip at the self-satisfied hunter, stalking up the stairs and into the shack. He made sure to shove Sebastian with his shoulder as he moved past, but the brick wall of his chest only made the boy wince.

The room was small, but to Kennedy's credit, tidy. Ciel noticed the bed right away, tucked into the corner, it’s mattress inviting after weeks of hard dirt. There was only one window, dust motes settling as the dawn sun filtered through.

The heir plucked an envelope off the table, and in cursive font it was address to one _Kasper Kennedy_.

“What’s it say?” Sebastian said, looming over the heir with his head ducked down to fit inside the cabin.

“You really ought to learn how to read,” Ciel drawled, earning himself an annoyed mutter. “It's addressed to Kennedy. Where do you think he is?”

The hunter jerked his chin toward a tattered map pinned to the wall, a half-empty box of bullets beneath.

“Hunting's my guess,” said Sebastian. “Guess we gon’ wait him out.”

The hunter went to the small bench that constituted a kitchen and picked through the bottles on a rickety shelf. He found something he liked, uncorked it and smelt the liquor inside, giving only a grunt of approval.

Ciel released a sigh between his teeth and settled down at the table. He was thankful he had bought a book, and as he opened his dog-earred page he watched as Sebastian settled down across from him and poured himself a drink.

“Whiskey, heiress?”

Ciel looked up through his eyelashes and Sebastian stared back, eyes bright and serious from the sun.

“It's dawn,” Ciel said, incredulous.

The hunter snorted and upended his glass, sinking even deeper into his chair. He pressed his head to the only window in the cabin, the thick glass foggy with the cold. He pretended to stare outside at the clearing that surrounded the cabin, and when Ciel looked down and began to read, he also pretended not to notice that the hunter was listening to him read.

After a page or two Ciel paused, and expectantly the hunter looked at him.

“Come over here,” Ciel said.

Sebastian didn’t blink. His eyebrows lowered into a devastating frown. He looked down at the unread book with a gruff petulance Ciel was reluctant to find charming. The heir ripped a page free from the back and fetched a pencil from the stack of items Kennedy kept on his table.

“I’m going to teach you to read,” Ciel said when the man did not budge.

Sebastian made a sound in his throat and Ciel watched as it bobbed. Eventually the hunter stood, palms flat to the table as he pressed his weight against it.

“Ain't want your charity,” he spoke down to Ciel, the table creaking under his weight.

Ciel ignored him and wrote a single word down on the paper in neat cursive. He pushed it across the table and watched as the man flicked his eyes from letter to letter.

“It's my name,” he said after a moment.

He glared at Ciel as if he expected the boy to laugh at him, to scorn, or to pull a face of pity. Ciel nodded instead, passing the pencil across to Sebastian.

“It's not charity,” Ciel lied. “Eventually I'll sign my fortune over to you and you’ll be expected to write your name.”

Sebastian stared down at his name again then reluctantly removed the glove from his left hand. He took it off with his teeth and Ciel swallowed as he revealed his skin. His fingers were slender and rather handsome, the colour of milk tea, with a circle of white scars around the base.

Then he picked up the pencil, and his hand began to shake.

Something plucked at Ciel’s heart strings. His chest swelled at the sight of it, the delicate tremble in the man’s hand as he contemplated his own name.

“I can’t,” Sebastian mumbled, without even attempting.

Ciel wet his mouth and stood, crossing the table so he could cup the back of Sebastian’s hand in his own. The instant their skin touched the man stiffened, an alarmed huff of air hitting the back of Ciel’s neck. His hand was warm below Ciel’s, fingers thicker and longer, but the heir found a place against them, moulding his hand to better grip the pencil.

“Relax your hand,” he murmured.

To his surprise, Sebastian obeyed. Ciel guided his hand to scribble out his name, letter by letter, in shaky, sprawling cursive.

“There,” said Ciel, releasing a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

He let go of Sebastian’s hand, fingers smoothing over his knuckles, and dared a glance up at the bounty hunter. He remained stooped over Ciel, staring at his wobbly name with an unreadable expression.

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

Ciel offered the man a smile but Sebastian didn’t respond to it. Instead he sat down, grabbed the bottle of whiskey, and poured himself a second drink.

If the bottle shook and spilt liquor on the table, the heir chose to be polite and ignore it.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian wrote his name out forty times.

The scratch of his pencil was lost beneath the sound of rain, which had started to fall sometime after noon. The cabin was now dark, the small stove in the corner lit to provide some warmth, and a lantern propped up on the windowsill so Sebastian could continue to scribble out his name.

He wrote until he reached the end of the page. Then he flipped it over and kept going – signature becoming more elegant and less shaky with each earnest try.

Kennedy had not come back.

Perhaps caught in the rain, or on the other side of a swollen river, he'd explained to the heir.

Sebastian looked over the page of signatures at Ciel’s sleeping body. He was splayed out on Kennedy’s bed, chest rising and falling beneath his green pyjamas. The coyote coat was tucked around him as a makeshift blanket but at some point he'd kicked his legs free.

“Don’t,” he said in his sleep.

Sebastian put down the pencil and book and sat up. Ciel’s head turned, grey strands slipping down his cheek and onto the pillow. His fingers twitched. His breath hitched.

“Don’t,” he whispered again. “Don’t touch me.”

Sebastian went quietly to his side. He watched as Ciel’s head lulled back, his throat exposed. His fingers curled into the blankets and his spine arched off the bed.

“Don’t,” he sobbed, nails dragging on the mattress. “D-don't, mm-uh, _no_.”

Ciel’s shorts rode up his pale legs, his thighs exposed – ripe fruit for the wicked. Sebastian watched them shift, press together as the heir writhed in slow motion. As the lamplight flickered over his form it was too easy to imagine wide, rough hands pressing bruises into the flesh.

Hands that belonged to someone familiar. Hands that had always loved to hurt.

Ciel sobbed again, curling off the bedding like it burned. His shirt slipped up, revealed a sliver of forbidden skin. Sebastian caught a glimpse of navel and, when he reached down to brush the silk out of the way, the pink scar that lay beneath the teenager's ribcage.

He was very small and very pretty. Like a bird, a glass vase. Something expensive Sebastian knew he couldn’t touch. Warm and fragile, and utterly vulnerable, like a baby rabbit quivering in the grass.

“Don’t,” Ciel moaned, and then he began to shake.

Sebastian pulled his hand back when the first tears dripped down Ciel’s cheek. His face contorted into agony, his mouth open and anxious noises caught and churned behind his teeth.

“Don’t touch him!” Ciel cried, thrashing so hard his nails scratched a line into his arm.

Red welts appeared in their wake. The boy flinched and it happened again, and Sebastian jolted too. He took a bird-like wrist in each hand and pressed them down onto the mattress so the heir could no longer claw at his skin.

He kicked instead, fighting against Sebastian’s hands. The hunter became aware, disgustingly aware, that the boy was dreaming of his father – and wondered if Ciel woke now he would see his face, his nose and jaw that he'd inherited, and make the connection in the dawn of his own nightmare.

But it did not convince him to let go of the boy's arms, and he kept him pinned even as his kicks collided with his tense stomach.

“Stop it!” He growled, slamming the kid against the bed.

He expected him to wake, but instead Ciel sucked in a rattling breath and began to howl. Hysterically he cried, loud enough that the cabin echoed with it. Sebastian’s body seized, the sound clawing through his chest and pulling his stomach out through his navel.

“I c-can’t do it,” Ciel panted, tears smeared across his own mouth, hair stuck to his face. “Don’t, _don’t_ , please – don't make me.”

“Do what?” Sebastian asked him.

Ciel's face screwed up and a fresh wave of tears soaked his eyelashes and seeped into his fur coat.

“Don’t do this to me,” he begged, turning his head side to side.

Sebastian let go of his wrists when the kid went limp, stumbled back until his legs hit the table behind him. Ciel continued to sob in his sleep, no longer thrashing, but his legs curling in against his body as if to protect himself.

Sebastian blew out the lantern on the windowsill so the room was only lit by the stove. He sat down and positioned his hat over his face, covered in shadows – but he could still see the heir sleep from beneath the rim.

The boy inhaled, quick and sharp, and Sebastian listened to him wake up. The cabin fell into silence, nothing but soft sniffling to replace the horrible dream.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian did not sleep.

He continued to stare at the heir long after he’d wiped his face, curled back into the coyote pelts, and fallen asleep. He looked upon his sleeping form until the dawn rose and it startled him how much time had passed.

His body ached from sitting. His limbs hurt from the cold. When he stood he tilted his head side to side until his neck cracked, and then did the same thing to his knuckles. He groaned and rubbed his abdomen over the bruise Ciel had made.

Pale light came in from the window but the heir stayed asleep, legs tucked up to his chest and face pressed against his own arm. When Sebastian came closer he saw his eyepatch had skewed, the smallest peek of lashes visible against the scar that dipped beneath.

Sebastian snuck outside to relieve himself, shuddering as fairy rain fell on his skin. The clearing was still and foggy, the trees dripping as he snuck his way between them. He pressed his hand against tired eyes, blinding him long enough that he walked right into something tall and firm.

Kasper Kennedy looked just as surprised as he did.

“What the -”

Kennedy’s words were cut off with a sick _smack_ as Sebastian surged forward and head-butt the startled man. He stumbled back and hit a tree, dazed enough for Sebastian to grab his throat and press him up against the bark.

“Don’t yell,” Sebastian warned, his voice thick with sleep. “You’ll wake my master.”

Kasper was as tall as Sebastian, his face covered in thick stubble. He was slender but all muscle, Sebastian could tell from the way he'd stumbled into him – and privately he was thankful he caught the man unaware or else he might not have the upper hand.

“Clancy warned us you were coming,” Kennedy grit, voice reverberating around the thick were Sebastian squeezed it.

“Clancy Fleming is dead.”

“He lived,” Kennedy snarled. “Mighty pissed off too, what you did to his brother.”

Sebastian curled his lip and clenched his hand so hard the sneer died from Kennedy’s lips.

“At least we ain’t _gut_ him,” he hissed in return. “What did you do to Ciel?”

Kasper glowered, his hands tight in Sebastian’s lapel but too weak to do anything but scrabble.

“We didn’t lay a hand on that fag-”

Sebastian dug his thumb into his throat and shoved him back against the bark, his head smacking the tree with a loud _thunk_.

“What did you do!”

“We didn’t touch him!” Kennedy breathed, eyes wide and teeth bared.

“Yes you did,” Sebastian seethed, pressing in so close he could breath down Kennedy’s maw. “I can make your death as painful as I want it, Kennedy.”

The man glared, but Sebastian had killed enough men with his bare hands to know Kasper was terrified. He felt it in his pulse, saw it flash across his eyes.

“We didn’t touch him,” he swore, fingers losing grip on Sebastian’s coat, his face going red. “Only his brother. Didn't put a scratch on him, not even a bruise.”

Sebastian dropped Kennedy and watched him crumple at his feet. The man curled up on himself and drew in air like a dying fish. His florid face only served to make him look more vile to Sebastian, and the thought of the floundering man laying hands on the Phantomhive twins made his blood boil.

Sebastian looked up and towards the cabin, but there was no sight of the heir. His eyes lowered and he caught sight of something silver and glimmering by the wood pile in the clearing.

“You know I heard something about you,” wheezed Kennedy, too poorly to stand. “I heard you’re Addison’s bastard son.”

Sebastian locked his jaw and put one boot on Kennedy’s neck.

Mud seeped into the man's clothes as he wriggled like a worm. Sebastian stepped down on his throat until the man’s eyes widened, then he thrashed, and something broke beneath the hunter’s heel. A wet sound bubbled up from his crushed throat.

Sebastian slipped between the trees and grabbed the handle of the axe buried in the wood pile. He dragged it back into the forest, smoothing his damp hair off his face, raindrops dripping off his nose.

Kennedy thrashed at the sight of the axe. Blood spittle hit his chin, the whites of his eyes visible when he struggled to sit up. Sebastian put a boot on his chest and shoved him back down where he belonged.

“Addison’s bastard son,” he repeated, letting each word fester in his mouth before he stooped over Kennedy and spat on his face.

The sharp gasp of terror, the way the blood left the man’s face as he swung the axe over his shoulder, made Sebastian's body sing – his lips quirk up. Kennedy cried out, a morbid, animal sound escaping his crushed neck.

“Told you not to yell,” Sebastian growled.

Then he bought the axe down in one fell swoop, severing Kasper Kennedy's head clean from his body.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian thanked Kennedy for keeping his hair long.

It served as a handle when he picked his head up off the earth and carried it to the cabin. Ciel was awake when he arrived, standing in the door frame with his coat hanging off one shoulder. He rubbed his eye, yawned into the frosty, rainy morning – and watched his hunter approach.

“Heiress,” he greeted, placing the head down at his feet.

Ciel stared down at him like a god awaiting blood sacrifice. To his credit, the boy didn't flinch at the sight. He lowered his gaze, bored, to Kennedy’s severed head – and Sebastian had to wonder if his lack of reaction was due to his nightmares being much, much worse.

Sebastian’s eyes travelled up the heir’s naked, unblemished legs.

 _Didn't put a scratch on him_ , Kennedy had said. _Not even a bruise._

Then the heir ducked down and picked the head up in his hands. Kennedy’s damp hair spilled over his knuckles, his blood spewed from the slack tear of flesh around his throat. It dripped down the boy's legs as he lifted it to eye level.

“Kasper Kennedy,” he muttered, staring into the corpse's eyes.

His face twisted into something nasty, an expression Sebastian had not seen since Calliope. Blank-eyed and full of hate. It did injustice to the boy's fair features, but the hunter had missed it.

Then Ciel leaned in and kissed the severed head on the mouth. It was a cruel kiss. The type that made Sebastian flinch, the type that was loveless and cold.

When he pulled away a dark smear of blood marred his lip and cheek.

“Hang it from the door,” he told Sebastian. “If any of his friends come looking I want them to see what happens if they fuck with the Phantomhives.”

The curse word was almost as jarring as the blood upon his mouth, but Sebastian nodded. He almost smiled, twisted joy filling his chest.

“My pleasure,” he told the boy, stepping up the stairs to take the cooling head out of his hands.

And when they rode away from camp Ciel looked like the devil, his hair brushed into a neat braid and his coat of skins worn like a trophy. He left the blood smeared across his mouth like war paint.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

The ride down the mountain took twice as long as the one up.

The rain didn’t let up. Each river they passed had swollen in size, and the horses irked at the thick mud they waded through. Raindrops clung to Ciel’s hair and to his coat, like glimmering crystals, and his mood remained sullen on their descent.

It was too cold to bathe but the heir was cat like – always driven by the need to clean himself. So three days after killing Kasper Kennedy, they stopped by a chilly river and set up a temporary camp.

Sebastian sat upon a rock that overlooked the river, his rifle poised and scanning the horizon. Fog lifted from the water, flirted with the heir who crouched beside it, finally wiping the dried blood from off his cheek. Then he untied his hair, let the wavy locks fall and soak water into the tips.

Sebastian snorted as he carefully combed fragrant oil into the strands, taking his time until his hair hung straight and smooth. Then he split it in half and made a plait on each side. It was practical, considering it only grew longer and longer – but Sebastian couldn’t help think how easy it would be for an enemy to yank Ciel from his horse using one of his self-made handles.

Ironically, it was Sebastian’s hair that Clancy Fleming reached out and grabbed, yanking him back with one fist while the other smothered a soaked cloth over his mouth.

The hunter thrashed, dropped his rifle and slipped backwards off his perch, eyes widening when he caught sight of the man who attacked him. Clancy’s eyes were bright – perhaps as surprised as Sebastian that he’d managed to capture the much larger, much stronger man.

And that was the last Sebastian saw as he breathed in the sticky substance on Clancy's cloth. His eyes narrowed, lashes fluttering, growl dying in his mouth – and he passed out.

Down below, Ciel continued to play with his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this chapter please let me know! Comment, or come talk to me on Tumblr (bun-o-ween) - I love discussing the TGN-verse!!


	14. Wasatch Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now everything changes...

Addison was a man of his word.

The bodega shook with sound. The blonde didn’t recognise a face in the cramped saloon and no one recognised him. He was free to savour his liquor, to stare out at the dim and drunken bodies, and reflect on the promises he had made over the years.

He promised allegiance to the Texas Rangers. He paid his pound of flesh in the Cortina Troubles, saw his share of horrors along the Rio Grande. Lost half his unit and half his mind along with them.

When the dust settled he’d deserted, licked his wounds in a silenced town south of the border. There he’d met the whore Lucrecia. She was petite and she was pretty, two things Addison held a weakness for. He promised her a dollar if she sunk to her knees and made him forget all the things that he had seen.

He promised her a dollar for her mouth, another dollar for her body. He gave Lucrecia every dollar he had ever earned until he himself was dollar-less.

And with no dollars left to give, he paid her in promises.

Promises not to burn her house down if she opened the door. Promises not to beat her if she got on the bed. Promises he wouldn’t pull the trigger if she got down on her belly, spread her legs and shut her mouth.

He kept his word on every visit. He kept his word even when Lucrecia’s stomach swelled with child and a baby boy was born.

Addison looked down into his glass and sneered. _His son_. Bright-eyed, dark-haired. Half-breed. Addison had no use for him other than a bargaining chip - his guarantee Lucrecia would obey him every time he rode to Mexico with a hunger for her flesh.

He promised not to beat the boy. He promised not to drown him.

 _And look what that got me_ , Addison thought to himself, edging his thumb along the painful scar that split his cheek.

The kid was docile at first. Quick to tears just like his mother. Some men liked fire in a woman’s eyes, but Addison favoured water. But the more tears he produced from Lucrecia, the more the look in his son’s eyes changed.

 _Fire_.

Addison didn’t trust fire. The moment he saw it flicker in the boy’s eyes he knew the child would try kill him. The next time he rode to Mexico he promised Lucrecia he would beat her head in with a rock if she didn’t tell him where her son was hiding.

He kept to his word.

Addison finished his drink and dabbed his sleeve against his maw. He sunk back into his seat as the liquor unlocked the knots in his sore shoulders.

He promised the eldest Phantomhive heir that he wouldn’t touch his baby brother if he told him where the key to his daddy’s safe was.

And of all the promises Addison had made in his life, the latter was the only one he regretted.

All the liquor in the world could not erase the taste of Ciel’s small, pink mouth. The youngest heir was his fatal flaw, petite and pretty. He had the sort of body he could shove around, keep pinned down with one arm and torment. But his favourite thing about the kid was the lack of fire in his big, blue eyes.

Addison was disturbed from his thoughts when Jesse Bluit pushed through the bodega doors, dragging a stumbling body behind him. His partner pushed the man down into the seat across from him, the immediate miasma of stale alcohol tickling Addison’s nose. Clancy Fleming groaned, tangling his fingers through his filthy hair.

“He killed my brother,” Clancy mumbled, rubbing at his stubble.

Addison sat up and lit a cigarette, taking a deep breath and masking the smell of booze and sweat with sharp, sweet smoke. “The heir?”

Ciel Phantomhive perplexed him. Addison remembered him as a timid, little thing. He was a screamer, with endless tears. He expected he could have untied the brat that night and he would have made no attempt to save his brother - paralysed by his own fear.

But the papers painted him like a devil, capable of torture and killings much worse than the ones Addison himself had committed in his past.

Clancy produced one of those papers from his coat, pushing it across the table for Addison’s perusal. He shook his head, his eyes dull and lingering on the black, bold words.

“No,” the drunk said. “His damned dog.”

Addison bought the article closer, eyes narrowed in the dark saloon. He flicked his cider-eyes across the paper until two words gave him cause to linger. A billow of smoke escaped his lips as he suddenly laughed.

“Ciel Phantomhive,” he read aloud, “and his hired misanthrope Sebastian Michaelis.”

Addison could not believe it. He was so stunned he could only smile, drawing in on his smoke again as he shook his head in disbelief.

“Jesse, do you see this? Kid’s got himself a dog.”

Jesse took the paper and read over it himself. He clenched the article in his fist, expression cold. The man had never appreciated irony the same way Addison did. Clancy Fleming was oblivious, quietly sulking in his chair. Addison leaned toward him, tapping his smoke against the rim of his empty glass.

“Sober up,” he told the drunk. “Head north to Utah, and when you get there I want you to bring me the dog’s dead body. Bring me Phantomhive too, but don’t lay a finger on him.”

Clancy’s eyes widened as he absorbed the information.

“You ain’t my boss no more,” he realised. “You never were. That fat, rich bastard Val-”

Addison cut him off with a hand around his neck. Clancy’s throat bobbed in his fist as he squeezed.

“Don’t say his name out loud,” he hissed. “You do as you’re told or I promise I’ll come after you, and I’ll drive my knife so far up your ass you’ll taste it.”

He shoved Fleming back so hard his chair squeaked. The man’s face was red, his eyes wide. He rubbed his throat, thoughts ticking over in his head as he weighed up Addison DuBois, the man who always kept his word. Eventually he stood, muttering something under his breath, and staggered out the door.

“Your little bastard became a big problem,” Jesse said once he was gone.

Addison snorted.

“Who would have thought?” He pondered. “They got enough bad blood between ‘em they might drown in it.” He paused, then smiled down at the smouldering cigarette in his hand. “Unless of course, the brat has no idea.”

Jesse gave a rare smirk.

“Imagine that,” he snickered. “What you gonna do with the heir anyway?”

“What I shoulda done in the first place,” Addison exhaled, smiling up at the other man. “I’m getting old, Jesse. Ain’t it time I had myself a bride?”

Jesse’s face soured as if Addison had spat on him.

“You know I respect you,” he growled, “but if you fuck around with that snake you’re gonna get bit.”

Addison sniggered and leaned back, lingering on the last ebbs of his cigarette. He thought of Ciel Phantomhive’s mouth wide open for his tongue, amongst other things. He wondered if his eyes were filled with fire now, and he wondered how long it would take to beat it out of him.

“I’m counting on it,” he told Jesse, and wet his lips.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel sat up with a start.

Something was wrong. The forest was too still. The heir held his breath and rose from his cat-like crouch by the waterside, fastening the last tie in his plait. He scanned the horizon and saw the tall, flat rock Sebastian sat upon was empty.

Ciel’s throat tightened. The rain fell in sprinkles on his skin as he released a shaking breath. The trees rustled in the breeze, the water rippled - but the clearing had gone eerily silent.

“Sebastian?”

Ciel tugged his fur coat around his chest and turned around, peering at the black spaces between the trees. Fog rose from the earth, distorting shadows. Branches flinched under the weight of the rain.

“Bastian?” He tried again.

Ciel removed his pistol from it’s holster and walked towards the empty rock. The grass under his boots crushed with wet _snaps_. The metal handle of his gun froze his fingers as he drew back the hammer with a trembling thumb.

 _He’s abandoned me_ , was Ciel’s first, involuntary thought.

The thought felt so heavy inside the heir that for a moment he felt sick. Suddenly the clearing felt too wide, the forest far too thick. Without Sebastian he had no way out. No food, no fire. But then Diablo nickered from the tree line and Ciel saw both their horses in the same place they had left them.

His second realisation was far more sinister than the first.

The rock was still warm where Sebastian had been. Ciel pressed his palm to it, his chest seizing as he forced himself to breathe in, breathe out. The grass was crushed in circles by the base, indentations in the mud that led back to the forest. In the grass beside his boots Ciel found Sebastian’s rifle caked with mud.

Panic rushed the young heir’s body so fast his knees buckled. The threat of fainting bubbled up in his stomach, made him sway forward and brace himself against the rock. The clearing swayed, his lashes fluttered. An anxious tear ran down his cheek and Ciel swiped at it, bitterly embarrassed.

He picked the rifle off the ground and picked away the mud, his stomach filled with bees. He looked towards the forest and he swallowed. He took a steadying breath, and then he followed the trail of boot prints into the dark and silent trees.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian came to with his arms above his head.

His fingers tingled from the lack of blood, bound with a thick chain looped around the branch of a tree. Sebastian stared up at it as he tried to blink the drowsiness from his eyes. He gave a tug and the wood creaked. It would snap if he pulled at it hard enough.

He didn’t recognise the clearing around him. The trees blocked out the light and filtered the worst of the rain. In the middle of the clearing was a fire, thick pot boiling over the flames. To Sebastian’s left was a river, swollen and rapid with the downpour.

He tugged at the branch again but the constant shivering drained the strength from the hunter’s body. His coat was gone, his shirt soaked through so that he could see his own muscles through the fabric, tense and twitching as the tips of his boots struggled to balance his body weight.

And then he saw Clancy Fleming, polishing something silver in his hand - and wearing Sebastian’s new, black coat.

“That’s mine,” Sebastian mumbled, his mouth sticky with the drug Clancy had snared him with.

The man looked up. He had dark circles under his eyes, his cheeks were sunken, and he hadn’t shaved in weeks. He looked like shit, and Sebastian wanted to laugh at him. But the silver Clancy polished was a long, thick knife.

“You ain’t have need for it no more,” the man said, making his way over to the hunter.

Sebastian scanned the tree-line.

“Where is he?”

Clancy scoffed.

“You think I could drag you down here _and_ manage that psychopath? Nah,” he chewed, spitting something on the dirt. “He’s gonna come to me instead.”

Sebastian tugged at his restraints again but his arms trembled and gave out. His teeth chattered when he locked his jaw, his flesh burning with the water than dripped down from his bound hands and soaked his clothes.

“He ain’t gon’ come,” he lied.

Clancy smiled, but it lacked joy. There was something disconnected to him now, faded and departed like it took off when he killed his brother.

“Only reason you’re alive right now is to make sure he comes running,” Clancy whispered. “I need him to hear you scream.”

Then Clancy slashed him across the stomach. It came so quick it felt like fire, the pain so sudden Sebastian choked on his own gasp. His muscles coiled, his chest swelled and pounded as he watched a line of blood drip down into his trousers. The cut wasn’t deep - didn’t mean to be. Clancy had no intention of killing him, yet.

Sebastian kept his scream inside of him until Clancy forced it out with a stab beneath his heart. He yelled so hard it hurt, the tree branch groaning as he thrashed. Clancy cut him again, and then again. His scream was so loud it echoed. When the man stopped Sebastian slumped, struggling to breathe, his wet shirt pink with blood.

Clancy leaned in and pressed the knife against his heart. The tip penetrated his shirt, drew a drop of blood up to the surface. The hunter was too cold, too ashamed to make a sound louder than a whimper.

“You killed my brother,” the man muttered, pressing in until his skin gave way.

Sebastian sobbed, loud and sudden, startled by the pain. He tugged at his restraints again but his arms felt broken, his hands so cold he could no longer feel his fingers.

“But I figure it’s gonna hurt you more if I take it out on that little cocksucker.”

Sebastian’s glare betrayed him.

“My boss wants Phantomhive alive and unscathed, but it’s a _long_ ride back. Plenty of time for bruises to fade.”

“Why d-does he want him alive?”

Clancy's smirk widened. He leaned in closer, the smell of cheap rum on his breath.

“I don’t know for sure,” he murmured. “But Addison’s been obsessed with the brat ever since we killed his family. I can't blame him,” he added. “His brother was the best fuck I’ve had in years.”

Sebastian coiled his hands into fists. His teeth grit. When he spoke it came out raw, voice snagged on the shivering fury that boiled up inside his stomach.

“He’s gon' kill you,” he seethed.

Clancy laughed and forced Sebastian’s head up with the knife. The blade nicked his jaw, sent another hot dollop of blood dripping down his throat.

“He ain’t gonna touch me while I’ve got a knife on you,” Clancy growled, cutting him again.

The _click_ of Sebastian’s rifle broke the silence of the clearing.

Sebastian’s chest flooded with both hot relief and cold dread. Ciel had the rifle aimed at Clancy back, his braids speckled with rain.

“Lay another hand on him and I’ll shoot your guts out,” Ciel warned, his voice an octave deeper than Sebastian was used to.

Clancy stiffened. Ciel’s arm shook to keep the rifle straight, too heavy for his smaller body.

“I said get away from him!” The heir shouted.

Clancy stumbled back a step, raising his arms above his head. He swallowed, his stunned expression changing into something cold calculated.

“Alright, alright,” Clancy tutted, and let his knife drop to the mud.

Ciel's eye flicked from Sebastian’s bound wrists, to his bleeding jaw, to the wounds on his stomach.

“I’m- _mmh_ fine, heiress.”

Ciel stepped closer, one foot in front of the other, and when he got close enough Sebastian could see how tightly he was strung. The heir’s hands were white-knuckled where they gripped the gun, his eye darting back and forth between the bounty hunter and Clancy.

“Where’s the key?” He asked.

Clancy shifted his hand to his pocket and Ciel stiffened, aiming the gun to his head. The man snickered, showed the flats of his hands like the heir was an untamed animal.

“Whoa now,” he reprimanded. “Looking for this?”

His hand inched toward his pocket again and the hunter watched Ciel hold his breath. When he slipped the silver key free he exhaled. Then Clancy dropped the key into the pot of boiling water.

 _Clink_.

Ciel twitched his nose. His sapphire ring clinked against the rifle as he took another step forward. Clancy’s eyes crossed as the rifle came close enough to touch. The only sound louder than Sebastian’s pulse was the rapid river slowly rising and sinking into his boots.

“Now why’d you go and do a stupid thing like that,” he drawled.

Ciel looked feral. He curled his lip and showed his teeth, and Sebastian felt a certain pride at how nasty Ciel looked in that moment. Gone was the helpless heiress, replaced with the blood-chilling psychopath he had keenly missed.

Ciel pulled the trigger.

 _Click_.

The gun jammed, and Sebastian saw the colour leave his face.

Clancy ran for him, the rifle hitting the forest floor with a _thud_ , followed by another when the outlaw forced Ciel down against the mud.

“Heiress!”

Sebastian’s body coiled, his muscles hot with renewed vigour. He tugged at the tree, the branch swayed and released a flurry of droplets on his head. Clancy drew back his closed fist and hit Ciel in the face. The sound hit Sebastian like he were in the heir’s place, the heavy smack of a fist on the heir’s delicate skin.

Clancy punched the heir over and over. His fist collided with his cheekbone, his nose, his head. The heir screamed, each cry aborted with another sick _smack_ , the jarring sound of flesh crushing flesh as Clancy beat Ciel’s face til it were bloody. He hit something that made the heir choke, his slender hands curled up in Clancy’s coat as he hit again,

and again,

and again.

Sebastian tugged at his wrists. He pulled so hard he willed one hand to break, to slip between the binding chains and free his hand. He thrashed so hard his back rubbed raw against the bark. He watched Ciel’s boots kick against the ground until another punch to his head made them stop.

When Clancy sat up his fist was bleeding. Ciel was coiled on his side, his hands curled around his head. Sebastian couldn’t see his face. He could only feel his sweat beading down into his shirt, could taste the bile in the back of his throat.

“Get away from him!” He shouted, yanking down at his chains until the branch crackled.

Clancy ignored him and stood. When he shrugged Sebastian’s coat off his shoulders the man could see blood sprayed across his shirt. Ciel remained still, not even moving when Clancy tugged the coyote pelt off his thin frame. Ciel’s back hit the mud and his head lulled to the side, revealing his face.

Blood seeped from his nose in a thick, black line. His eyebrow, split. His eyepatch crooked. His mouth half-parted, sticky strands of blood connecting his lips. Blood seeped out his hairline.

Dead.

Sebastian stared at the limp body of the teenager. His chest didn’t rise, his shirt soaked through with rain. The kid was the same colour as the linen, his fingernails tinged with blood where he must have dug them into Fleming’s skin.

“Shit,” Clancy mumbled, staggering over Ciel to press his fingers to his pulse. “ _Fuck_. Addison’s gonna kill me.”

Ciel was dead.

An ugly sound escaped Sebastian’s mouth. Clancy leaned down to listen for a breath but the hunter flushed with searing heat. _Get away from him_ , he wanted to shout. But his throat clamped up and he could only groan, the tree creaking and snapping as he yanked, and yanked, and yanked.

 _Snap_.

The branch gave way with a sound so loud it startled Clancy into looking up. His eyes widened as the wood crumbled, Sebastian’s boots finally hit the earth as it gave way in slow motion.

And at the same time Ciel leaned up the few inches that separated him from Clancy, opened his jaw, and bit down on his throat.

Sebastian slid down the muddy roots of the tree, and then something hard and unforgiving smacked him on the head. The branch above him hit him so hard he couldn’t hear, only watch as he staggered sideways and followed the tree branch, wrists still bound around it, into the cold, swollen river.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

 _Blood_.

Ciel could taste blood. Clancy thrashed but he bit down harder, the outlaw’s pulse so hot and quick that Ciel choked on the stream of blood that ran down his throat. It seeped out the corners of his mouth. His teeth ground down on the tough tendons and slivers of flesh he tugged at.

Clancy grabbed his hair and pulled, and although the braid burned at the root of his scalp, the heir couldn’t feel it. Not on top of the rest of his injuries, his nose so stuffed with blood that he couldn’t breathe as he chewed out Clancy's throat.

He didn’t let go until the outlaw stopped tugging, until his blood came out thicker, and sluggish. The heir scrambled backwards, the man’s body sinking down over his as he died.

Blood dripped out Ciel’s mouth, some stuck to his eyelashes. He wiped his face and cried out when he brushed a wound. With careful fingers he prodded the laceration on his lip. From the throbbing he could tell it was not the only one.

The river roared, too loud. The water skipped over a barrier, splashed into the air. The tree had cracked in two, the thick branch laying over the rapid river like a bridge. And around the middle of it was a thick loop of chains, and two hands in leather gloves.

Ciel tried to stand but his head spun. His knees buckled under him as he pitched forward, hitting the ground again so hard he cried out. So he crawled, buried his nails into the dirt and dragged himself on hands and knees, into the river until the water took his weight.

The freezing water stole the air from his lungs.

His chest constricted, his lungs burned. He waded out until the river became so deep the rapids threatening to sweep him away. He reached out and grabbed Sebastian's hands and dragged himself towards them. As soon as their fingers intertwined Sebastian clamped down on his hand so hard the heir yelped.

“Heiress!”

Sebastian was pressed against the underside of the log, the rapids lapping at his throat. His arms were bound to the branch, his skin void of colour. Ciel had never seen him look so pale. He'd never seen him frightened before.

“The key,” the hunter urged, eyes wide as they darted across Ciel’s face, cataloguing his injuries.

Ciel nodded, pushing back the way he came until he staggered up onto the shore like a new born fawn. Each step sunk it’s fangs into his wounds. He forced himself to the fire, hugging his stomach so he wouldn’t throw up.

He could see the warbled shape of the key beneath the boiling bubbles. The heir put his hand close to the pot and felt the heat come off in waves. He gave it a push, but as soon as his hands came in contact with the pot a white hot pain shot up both arms and made him shriek. He staggered back like he’d been struck by lightening. Worst of all, the pot didn’t budge an inch.

The heir shoved his discarded coat onto the flames and kicked it under the pot until smoke smothered the heat of the fire. He watched until the bubbles died down but could still feel the heat of the water.

He waded back to Sebastian, grabbing his hands again so he wouldn’t be swept away.

“It’s too hot,” he told him. “I can’t move it, it’s too much.”

Sebastian wasn’t livid as expected. The bounty hunter nodded, then tried to pull his weight out of the water. He slipped, splashing down into the water and taking a mouthful of river. When he surfaced his lashes stuck to his cheeks, his chest filled out as he panted.

“I don’t know what to do,” Ciel said, shaking. “Tell me what to do.”

Sebastian stared at the heir for a long time, his expression unreadable. His chin went beneath the water as his arms loosened. Ciel cupped the side of his face and helped his mouth out of the river. The hunter closed his eyes and took the deepest breath he could manage. When he opened them something had changed. Ciel could see an inkling of a plan in his carmine iris.

“Remember that ugly rock we passed on our way here?”

Sebastian’s lips were pale as he spoke, his voice both thick and quiet. Ciel cupped his head up higher, then nodded.

“You said it reminded you of me,” the heir said.

The hunter’s mouth twitched up but he didn’t smile.

“Follow the river downstream and go west at the ugly rock,” he told the boy. “Keep moving west until you reach Salt Lake. Send a telegram to Agni and he’ll c-come get you. I promise.”

Ciel absorbed the information with a frown.

“Without you?”

Sebastian pulled his weight up again but his shaking arms let him down. He winced, glared up at the chains around his wrists and flexed his fingers where Ciel held on with his free hand.

“It ain’t like I can go nowhere.”

The hunter sunk into the water, nothing but his bound hands keeping him upright, the river up to his mouth. He tipped back his head to stare up at the sky.

“Go west,” he repeated, as Ciel was struck silent. “Agni will come for you.”

A sense of déjà vu rushed over Ciel, colder than the river. He opened and shut his mouth, tried to speak but could only muster a groan. Sebastian waited patiently for his reply and it only irked the boy more. Sebastian was never patient. Sebastian was never calm.

“S-stop it,” he stammered, shivering. “Stop being dramatic.”

Sebastian choked on another mouthful of water. Ciel cupped his head and lifted him. He wrapped an arm around his shoulders and tried to tug him higher but the hunter weighed too much.

“Ain't being dramatic,” he groaned. “These chains ain’t gon’ give.”

“The pot- ”

“It’s too hot.”

Ciel shook his head, letting go of Sebastian’s hands to sink down in the water with him. He lifted his head with both hands and wiped the water off his face.

“The fire’s out, we just have to wait,” he breathed.

Sebastian let him touch his face, leaning into the heir’s hand when he brushed his fringe out of his eyes.

“Ain’t got a lot of waiting left,” he said, mouth close to Ciel’s wrist.

The heir’s heart jumped a beat and his next words came out so quiet he was sure Sebastian’s wouldn’t hear them.

“You’ll die.”

It tasted sour in his mouth. He thread his fingers into the back of Sebastian’s hair but the man sagged, no longer able to keep his boots on the ground of the ever-rising river. He nodded into the boy’s hand, and when he glanced up he looked no older than a boy, and his eyes were bright with fear.

“Yeah,” he said, very softly.

Ciel began to shake. The situation was too similar. The river felt tight around his ribs. He shook his head, stuttering around his words. His heart wormed up into his throat and made it hard to breathe.

“No,” he shook his head. “No! Not you too. I ain’t going to do this again.”

He let go of Sebastian’s face and swam for the shore. He didn’t look back at Sebastian’s face, haunted by the way the fearsome hunter seemed to give in and accept his quick approaching fate.

“Heiress, don’t!” He called, timbre of his voice lost under the roaring of the river.

The water of the pot no longer bubbled. Ciel could see the key at the bottom, crystal clear, only disturbed when the occasional drop of rain from the still surface. The water wasn’t deep, not even the depth of his full hand. The heir hovered his fingers over the surface for a second, letting his hand gather sweat from the heat.

He dipped in two fingers - and the pain was so magnificent he yanked back his hand and fell backwards on the earth. He screamed, staring in horror as the tips of his fingers turned bright red, and the pain throbbed through his arm and into his chest, fluttering so fast he thought it’d stop.

The pain didn’t stop. It crawled through every vein, itched its way under his skin. It made Ciel pant, his crying animal, wounded. He rushed to the river with his hand pressed to his chest, submerging his hand as he swum out to Sebastian.

“Why the fuck would you do that!” Sebastian shouted, but his voice had lost it’s edge.

His face contorted when he saw the pink of Ciel’s fingers, his arms tensing at the sight.

“I c-can’t,” Ciel sobbed, unable to stem the flow of tears that rolled down his cheek. “I can’t do it. I can’t do it, Sebastian.”

The hunter didn’t yell again. He said nothing. He pressed his lips together as if to conserved heat. His hair tugged in inky strands across the surface of the water. Ciel used his uninjured hand to grasp his fingers, and the hunter interlocked them with a weak squeeze.

“It’s okay,” he said.

Ciel pressed his burned fingers to the man’s frozen cheek, thumbing away the sluggish blood that lingered in the cut. The hunter didn’t fuss as the heir wound his fingers in his hair, tugging gently on it to pull his mouth away from the rushing water.

“Diablo likes carrots,” Sebastian said, and closed his eyes.

Ciel’s face burned with tears, his throat thick with spit. He could still feel his burn throbbing through his entire body.

“Don’t say that,” he sobbed.

“He _loves_ carrots,” the man repeated, eyes still closed. “Hates pears.”

Ciel let go of his head and hand and looped his arms around Sebastian's chest. He sunk down to try to push him off the river floor. His boots kicked into water and nothing else. He started to sob, his chest aching as he felt Sebastian sink a little deeper. He pressed his face into the man’s submerged chest, crying harder.

“Please don’t,” he cried. “Please don’t, oh Lord. Bastian, _please_ don’t go.”

Sebastian’s arms tensed and he pulled himself up enough to lean his head in the crook of Ciel’s shoulder. His nose pressed to his throat. His hands, still bound above him, snared a strand of Ciel’s hair and curled it around two fingers.

“Ain't the worst way to go,” Sebastian said, his voice rumbling against Ciel’s neck and the place where his chest pressed to the heir’s.

The finality of it, his gentle groan, made Ciel laugh – in shock. He wound himself tighter around the man like he could squeeze him lose from the chains.

“In a river?”

Sebastian shook his head, and when his lips moved they brushed wetly over the lump in Ciel's throat.

“With you,” he said.

Sebastian went limp. He slipped into the river until his mouth was submerged, the water lapping at his nose.

“Bastian?”

The sight of his mouth beneath the water, his eyes closed, his relaxed face – made Ciel seize up in terror. He couldn’t watch him die. He couldn’t do it again.

The heir forced himself to let go of Sebastian as he thrashed towards the shore. He didn’t look back when the man’s mouth and nose slipped under. He ran toward the pot and dipped his entire hand into the water.

White, liquid pain.

Every inch of him caught on fire, his veins split open. The pain so horrific he couldn’t cry out, only stiffen in shock. His fingers brushed the key, curled around the searing handle as he pulled it free. His hand came free with steam clinging to his skin, he could feel his flesh bubble and blister between his fingers. He moaned, a choked off noise of horror as he stared at the colour, his hand quaking beyond his control.

By some feat of sheer adrenalin, Ciel threw himself back into the river.

The icy water stung his flesh, made him cry out in shock. His entire body was under arrest with the pain, unable to close his mouth and stop the water pushing in. The only thing that moved him forward was Sebastian’s hands above the water, completely limp. Ciel kicked his legs and grabbed for them, hoisting his torso against the branch.

He fumbled with the key. He couldn’t move his burned hand, his dominant fingers. The key slipped, missed the slot and made Ciel cry in frustration. When it clicked in place he shouted, tugging away the chains until he felt Sebastian’s body shift and sink deeper into the river. He let go and joined him, wrapping his arms around the hunter’s shoulders as they were swept away in an instant.

Ciel held him close and shut his eyes. His body hurt too much to care where they were going. He could feel Sebastian’s hair stick to his face, feel his chest against his own. He wrapped his legs around him too, frightening they would lose each other in the rapids. The entire time Sebastian remained limp, and when his head lulled back his eyes were shut, his lips parted.

The river filled Ciel’s ears, his mouth. He kept Sebastian’s head above the water but sunk under, again and again. Every time he tried to suck air into his lungs he would swallow more water, gag and splutter, and repeat the cycle.

Hard rocks bruised his back and scraped his skin. Each splash of ice cold water that hit his face made him tense all over in surprise. Ciel’s lungs burned to scream but he was stifled. He wound his body tighter around his bounty hunter and held on until the rapids slowed, and eventually his boot brushed against the sandy riverbank.

Ciel had heard stories of men who lifted entire wagons off trapped people from adrenalin alone. He had always thought it myth, until he dragged Sebastian’s heavy, wet body to the shore with his one, good hand. He dragged him up as high as he could manage, his own legs shaking and threatening to give out.

And then once the man was safe Ciel felt his eyes flutter back into his head, and he fainted, and crumpled on the sand beside Sebastian.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Snuffling.

Sebastian could feel whiskers on his face, hot air panted on his cheek. Something heavy by his head shifted against the earth. When he opened his eyes the overcast sky was blinding bright. He pushed his hand over his eyes, and connected with something huge and warm above his head.

Diablo’s nostrils stared him eye to eye.

The horse had his ears flicked forward, his concerned snuffles on Sebastian’s cheek, his brow, his hand. When his master moved the horse snorted, spittle splashing across the hunter’s nose.

“Diablo,” he whispered, reaching up with both hands.

Between his gloves and sleeve he could see thick, red bruises encircling each wrist. He entwined his fingers in Diablo’s mane and exhaled, the touch instantly soothing to his tired and confused body.

“Did you follow me here?” He asked the horse, smoothing down his coat.

Diablo snuffled the palm of his hand for a reward, but Sebastian could only scratch behind his ears.

"Diablo es buen," he cooed to him. "Diablo es _tan_ inteligente."

Diablo nickered at the praise and raised his head. He looked gargantuan from where Sebastian lay, like a dark angel hovering over his body. When the horse backed up rain landed on the hunter’s face, and it startled him into sitting up on his elbows, the most that he could manage with the way his entire skeleton cried in pain.

Ciel’s body was curled up beside his.

If not for his eye patch and his hair, the kid was unrecognisable. His skin was drained of colour and it drew Sebastian’s eyes to the large, mottled bruises covering his face. They had already started to swell, especially the puffy, red skin that surrounded the cuts on his mouth, cheek, and eyebrow. Even the skin beneath his patch was tender and purpling.

The heir’s arms were cradled to his chest, and sand pressed to his cheek. He was out cold, and Sebastian tugged his glove off with his teeth to press his fingers to his neck. A sluggish pulse throbbed against his skin and the man released the breath he held.

Then he caught sight of Ciel's right hand, tucked against his chest - and it all became too much, too quickly.

"Fuck," he muttered.

The heir's hand was red and blistered. His skin looked raw, the colour of his wounds. The hunter carefully peeled it away from his chest and turned it over in his hand, examining every inch of bubbled skin, the traumatised fingers that had willingly been plunged in boiling water -

For him.

Something foreign filled Sebastian's chest and he hated the feel of it. It felt like insects trapped behind his ribs, crawling and flickering, toussling every anxious nerve inside his body, swarming every available space inside him until a pit grew in his throat.

Ciel was shivering, and his lips were almost blue. His shirt was ripped, his fine collarbone exposed, his pale stomach. Sebastian curled both arms around him and crushed him to his chest, sharing his warmth with the trembling heir. And although small, and wet, and shaking - Ciel's little fire thawed Sebastian's chest and melted his limbs against his body.

He could feel Ciel's heart fluttering away like a bird, his burned hand positioned carefully between their chests. Sebastian smoothed his hair back and tucked his face into his next, possessed with the innate desire to share warmth, to curl around, and to protect.

He rolled onto his back and took Ciel with him. His head hit the sand and he stared back up at the trees slowing swaying overhead. In his peripheral he saw Diablo and Rabbit, alert but unperturbed. Sebastian curled his hand behind Ciel's head and struggled to keep his breathing calm and steady.

But it was impossible to come down from the fear that still throbbing through his fingers, the mindset he had forced himself into - that he'd made his bed and had been prepared to drown in it.

It was not the only near-death experience the twenty-five-year-old had lived, but it rattled him to the bone like no other had.

With Ciel sleeping on his chest and his body temperature slowly rising, Sebastian finally allowed himself to cry.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uploaded this chapter so quick to say thank you for your beautiful response to the last chapter. Comments and kudos really do make authors write quicker heheh 
> 
> If you like this chapter please let me know, and come speak to me on Tumblr: bun-o-ween
> 
> I'm always excited to discuss theories and headcanons, and the occasional request 💖


	15. South

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys like this one - it's a bit fluffier than I'm used to.
> 
> Thank you, again, to peekaboodesu, who is endless patient, inspiring, and kind.

Sebastian could count good memories on one hand.

There was a time when he was young, not yet old enough to realise what his father was doing, when he was happy.

The memories were faded, hard to read like a newspaper left out in the sun. He could smell the dirt floor of his childhood home, his mother’s perfume which she kept in a delicate bottle on the windowsill.

The sky was always bigger in his memories, endless and powder blue, and his mother’s skin soft where she held his hand. Her black hair, tangled with flowers he pulled from the earth and twisted into her locks. His fingers, small and chubby, could only manage crooked braids – but when she laughed and asked if she looked beautiful, Sebastian always answered yes.

Another memory, when Sebastian was twenty, he delivered a foal. Almost by accident, and all alone. He called for Agni but the man didn’t come. Backed up against the stable with his heart in his throat, the pregnant mare looked just as nervous as Sebastian felt.

When Agni finally came running the foal was already out. It kneeled with flecks of straw stuck to it's coat, nickers high-pitched and squeaky, it’s mother fawning over it's dampened head. Sebastian sat opposite, his hands still shaking from the birth, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Agni had hugged him, laughed into his neck and messed his hair up with his fingers. Sebastian shook, still catching his breath, but his heart swelled, staring at the life he had dragged into this world.

In both memories Sebastian felt so elated he feared his heart might crawl out his throat.

And, as he used the torn linen of his shirt to wrap Ciel’s burned and blistered fingers, his heart beat in the exact same way. Not in happiness, but in fear – trapped behind his teeth, his lips pressed shut to prevent his heart from escaping.

Blood seeped down his shirt and cooled on his navel. The rain had stopped but he was soaked, knuckles white and hands shaking where he curled the bandage around each of the heir’s fingers. The clearing was silent, their fire too small to make much noise above the occasional _pop_.

If Sebastian thought too hard about the situation it hurt his head, like looking at the night sky and trying to fathom the size of it. He had never been smart. There were a lot of things he didn’t know. Ciel was one of them, as irritating and hard to read as the books he liked to carry.

Sebastian glanced up and caught the boy staring at him, his face wet from tears, swollen and berry-black where Clancy had hit him. To his credit the boy didn’t scream when he touched his hand, only whimpered as he slathered the bubbled skin in honey and bandaged it wrist to nails.

He sniffled, his eye glassy, lips trembling as he tried to stifle the sound he made. He looked small, and so miserable it pained Sebastian to look at him, guilt working it’s way under his rib.

“Stop it,” he muttered, chest tight. “Quit making that sound.”

Ciel's face fell even further, his shoulders quivering as another mournful sound slid past his teeth.

“I thought you were going to die,” he cried.

Ciel's eye looked pale against the bruise below it and his lips were cherry-red, glossy from the whiskey that the heir held in his good hand.

“I’m fine.”

“You asked me to k-kill you.”

Sebastian locked his jaw.

“No, I didn’t.”

Ciel jerked back his hand but Sebastian caught it, squeezing the heir’s wrist until he cried out. His shout echoed, a fresh wave of tears dripping down blood-stained cheeks.

“Don’t fucking move,” the hunter warned.

Ciel withered, raising his bottle and drinking from it like the whiskey were water. When he was done, lips departing with a _smack_ , he narrowed his eye and lowered his voice into a sticky growl.

“Don’t you _never_ ask me to do that again,” Ciel said.

Sebastian pressed his tongue into his cheek, a hot prickle in his gut. His body ached where it had scraped against the river rock. His chest stung from Clancy's knife, and his wrists were bruised and sent angry shivers of pain up each of his arms.

“I ain’t ask you to do nothing.”

He moved to tuck the last bandage into place, but Ciel jerked his hand back once more.

“You did!”

Sebastian stared at the place where Ciel's hand used to be. He couldn't restrain the snarl that broke over his face.

“I ain’t ask you to kill me,” he sneered. “I ain’t ask you to _save_ me. I ain’t ask you to burn your fucking hand off neither.”

He snatched the bottle from Ciel and took a long drink, the whiskey adding fuel to the fire that brewed inside his gut. He could hear his mother’s voice in his head and it only made him sicker.

 _Don’t wear your heart on your sleeve_.

“How you gon' shoot now?” He bit, then took another drink. “How you gon' ride? Do you ever think about _anything_ before you do it?”

Under the swelling and the blood, Ciel’s nose twitched. Sebastian couldn't stop the words coming from his mouth, his body crying in pain as he sat up on his knees and got as close to the heir’s beaten face as he dared.

“I ain’t never met no one as fucking stupid or as arrogant as you,” he hissed, exhaling the final syllable over Ciel’s split lip.

The heir froze. His throat bobbed, his good hand tightened in his lap. He closed his eye, the lashes clumped together with a glue of blood and sweat.

“You would have drowned without me,” Ciel said, very softly.

Sebastian snorted against bruised skin, rising higher on his knees until he loomed over the boy.

“If you’re expecting gratitude I wouldn’t hold your breath,” he muttered. “Sitting here, looking at that face of yours, makes drowning look mighty attractive.”

He expected the sharp slap across his cheek.

It knocked him back onto his haunches, the flash of heat across his nose almost pleasant in the cold. He rubbed the prickling skin, watching Ciel’s face contort with hurt, his hand still raised.

“You’re scared,” Ciel blurted. “You’re insecure.”

“Insecure,” Sebastian repeated, rubbing his tongue against his teeth in disbelief.

Ciel nodded, shrinking back when Sebastian got back on his knees, planted one hand on the panicked heir’s chest, and shoved him easily into the grass. The air came out of him with a gasp, hardly flinching when Sebastian’s hand went for his throat, his thumb pressed down against the nervous swallow of his Adam's apple.

“We're in this together,” said the heir, his chest heaving. “You made a contract with me, a promise.”

Sebastian’s thumb moved down to the dip in the heir’s throat, his other hand digging imprints in the thick, black mud. The heir looked up at him without fear, his chin raised like the impetuous prince he were, even now – surrendered to the deadliest hand their side of the Rio Grande.

“I wouldn’t have left you there,” Ciel breathed as the man’s shadow fell over his face. “I wouldn’t have left you alone, to die.”

Sebastian's heart stopped as his greatest fear was spoken aloud.

Ciel was too clever for his own good, so clever it was terrifying. It didn’t impress Sebastian – it scared him. His body flushed with white hot heat, his teeth grit as he filled the vulnerable gap inside his chest with the only emotion he had in abundance – anger.

As his hand moved to clench Ciel’s delicate throat, the heir moved first and grabbed his shoulder. His leg looped round his hip, his good hand bunched into Sebastian’s hair. He wound himself around him, constrictor tight, and with a strength that took the breath from both of them, wrestled Sebastian onto his back.

For a moment Ciel could only pant, his wavy hair stuck to his face, his chest swelling as his body melted, thighs spread either side of Sebastian’s waist. Ciel looking right through him as if he could see every lie, everything the man hid so deep, deep inside.

“Stop it,” he warned the kid.

 _Stop looking inside of me_.

The heir hiccupped, an echo of a sad, shocked laugh, and wiped his sleeve across the pink sweat that gathered on his brow.

“You’re unbelievable,” he drawled, accent thicker when he shook. “I don’t believe you, Bastian. I ought to kill you myself.”

The hunter tensed. He sat up on his elbows, ready to grab Ciel by his hair and buck him off – but again, the heir moved. He leaned down, pressing them chest to chest, until his chin touched Sebastian’s pectoral. His good arm wrapped around his shoulders, his bad pressed between their bodies, and he squeezed.

Sebastian held his breath, went perfectly still – and then realised it was just a hug.

It took the fight from him. He let his fingers unclench and unlocked his jaw. The muscles in his legs relaxed, his boot slipping through the mud as he let his calf press flat against the earth.

Ciel sucked in a shaking breath and he sobbed, nose pressed into the hunter’s throat, every tear felt against the nervous swallow of his throat. He tightened, his arm slipping under his shoulders and between the dirt, fingers fitting themselves between the notches of his spine.

Sebastian had killed. He'd been hurt, and lost, and tormented. He'd almost drowned in the Wasatch river, trapped and freezing, and alone.

But as Ciel drew in another hysterical sob, his body worming closer to Sebastian, the hunter couldn’t think of anything that had terrified him more than the Phantomhive heir.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel was so drunk he couldn’t feel his face.

He didn’t even flinch when Sebastian untied his eyepatch and cleaned the swollen skin beneath. He kept his eyelashes closed but could feel the hunter examining him, his carmine eyes flicking between the place where his lashes split in half, and then to the same split in his eyebrow.

“Better?” He asked when he was done dabbing his wounds.

“Peachy,” Ciel breathed.

To be honest he hadn’t paid much attention to his face, preoccupied with examining the hunter’s handsome features instead. With every sip of whiskey Sebastian looked prettier and prettier, and Ciel found it hard to concentrate when the man looked him in the eye and lit a cigarette.

He offered it to the heir and Ciel leaned in, taking a draw from the smoke. His lips brushed Sebastian’s knuckles as he inhaled, and although the tobacco did nothing but irritate his throat, the way the hunter tensed up as their skin touched did more for the heir than the liquor did.

Ciel had never been drunk before. Not like this. A few sips of lavender lemonade with Soma, a flute of champagne at his father’s parties. His brother always teased the way his face got when he drank, said he always blushed down to his throat.

Ciel touched his fingers to his neck and sure enough the flesh was warm beneath his fingers. His mouth tugged up, and he laid back onto the blanket he'd lay down close to the fire so he could blink up at the stars.

“Bastian?” He whispered, loudly.

Sebastian took another draw of his cigarette, sitting cross legged with one hand splayed into the grass near Ciel’s head. He exhaled, lips parted while the smoke lingered on his tongue, and then glanced down at the recumbent boy.

“What did you put on my hand?”

“Honey.”

His voice sounded soft and sad. Ciel felt something tug at his stomach, the memory of how Sebastian looked in the river, telling Ciel to leave him alone, to let him die.

“Honey,” Ciel repeated, lifting his hand to his face.

It throbbed, but the sensation was far away like the sad feeling, deep down and fuzzy like the stars above. The heir touched his lips to his wrist, ran his tongue against a smear of honey that escaped the edge of his bandage.

“Don’t eat it, stupid.”

Ciel sighed at the sweet taste, rolling it around his tongue. “Huh.”

Sebastian watched, all his hair pushed back off his face. He looked attractive like that, Ciel thought. In a brooding, melancholy way.

“How did you know to use honey?”

“Got burned once,” he mumbled. “Fell asleep in a field and woke up with sunburn so bad my skin blistered.”

Ciel's mouth formed an o-shape and he wriggled, in which he hoped was a very subtle way, a little closer to Sebastian.

“Why were you sleeping in a field?”

“Hiding from my father.”

That sad, distant tug pulled again at Ciel’s stomach.

“What was he like?” He asked.

Sebastian stared at the end of his cigarette, pupils black and iris soft. When he looked back at the eighteen-year-old, he stared at his cheek, following his scar from jawline to hair.

“Cruel,” was all he said.

Ciel wanted to say _like father, like son_. But in his whiskey-induced wisdom the heir realised _cruel_ would be a cheap word to call Sebastian.

He wasn’t cruel, the same way Ciel wasn’t the psychopath the newspapers painted him as.

Sebastian tilted his neck to the side until it cracked. He still had blood smeared on his cheek, and the sleeves of his shirt didn’t cover his bruised wrists. Sliding his uninjured hand across the dirt, Ciel brushed his finger against the man’s sleeve.

 _Misunderstood_ , Ciel thought to himself. It was the word he'd use to describe them both.

“What did he do to you?”

Sebastian's dark lashes flicked down to the place Ciel played with his sleeve. He didn’t brush him away, perhaps as drunk as the heir. He shook his head, a strand of hair falling between his eyes. Ciel watched the fire play across his nose, the silver scar that cut across it.

“I had this...” Sebastian paused, frowning at their hands, “this baby rabbit, when I was a boy.”

Ciel put his pinkie between the fabric of his shirt and the man’s bruised wrist. He whispered it across his skin, just close enough to feel the warmth.

“A baby rabbit?”

“A kitten,” he nodded. “They're called kittens when they’re that young. Found it in the grass, was gon' die unless I did something.”

Ciel put another finger inside his sleeve and pressed the pads of them to the inside of Sebastian’s wrist. The hunter didn’t move, just stared at the place where they touched like he couldn’t even see it, like he was too deep in the memory to care.

“Fed it,” he continued. “Took care of it. Slept next to it.” He paused, and wet his mouth. “Loved it.”

He glanced up at the trees and the fire light caught his eyes, glassed over with troublesome memory.

“He killed it,” Ciel said, when it became apparent Sebastian could not say it for himself.

Sebastian’s breath hitched.

“Stomped on it,” he said.

This time, the tug in his chest felt much closer, much colder to Ciel.

“ _Sebastian_.”

The man pulled his hand away from Ciel’s, and his next words were spoken around the cigarette in the corner of his mouth.

“That's how he killed my mamá too, and it’s how I’ll kill him when I find him. Stomp on him,” he added, face contorting. “I think about it all the time.”

Ciel's heart felt like a rock.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been looking for him for years. Every time I catch drift of him he disappears, like smoke.”

The bounty hunter stared at his cigarette as it withered away into the night. He squeezed it hard between his fingers and its insides fell out, the ash crumbling into nothing.

He opened his mouth to speak again, Ciel held his breath. But Sebastian looked too tired to continue, and his shoulders fell along with the crumpled cigarette.

Ciel knew how he felt. To want revenge, to have it be the only thing that kept his heart beating. The boy wondered how long it would take for him to become like Sebastian. He wanted to ask how he did it, how he dragged himself out of bed each morning.

How he resisted the urge to end it all, like Ciel so desperately wanted to.

“Sebastian?”

“ _What?_ ”

His tone made the teenager reconsider.

“Does my face look that bad?”

Sebastian's eyes flicked from his chin to his forehead, and then darted down to everything between.

“Honestly?” He asked.

Ciel nodded.

The man’s face softened in the slightest and he leaned in to get a better look at the heir. He brushed back a strand of grey hair and Ciel felt his face colour under the close scrutiny.

“Looks like Diablo gon’ and walked all over it,” Sebastian decided.

The heir breathed hard through his nostrils, face hot, and flicked his eye back up to the heavens.

“Go to bed,” the hunter said, already rolling another smoke.

Ciel looked towards his tent, the one Sebastian had so kindly set up for him. Then he looked at the hunter, his handsome jaw catching light in the fire, and the smell of his warm body making the heir’s lashes droop closer to his cheek.

“I want to sleep here,” he argued.

Sebastian shrugged, leaning over to light his smoke in the flames.

“Suit yourself.”

If Ciel’s face hadn’t swollen stiff he might have smiled. When the hunter looked up at the sky, Ciel extended his hand back out to his. This time, when his fingers curled into the pocket between his wrist and sleeve, Sebastian didn’t pull away.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Their ride down the mountain was silent.

Ciel drunk them dry of whiskey the night previous, and the pain in both his wounds, and in his hangover, threw him into a prolonged silence. Sebastian could feel him staring, the occasional prickle on the nape of his neck, and when he chanced a look at the boy he was met with a sad and beseeching stare.

Like the kid wanted something from him.

It made him nervous, that bruised and blue-eyed look. So undoing Sebastian feared once they made eye contact his lips would unlock and he would apologise to Ciel against his will. It was not that the man felt ungrateful, but rather the opposite. He couldn’t fathom why Ciel would risk his life for him, so he decided to ignore the topic entirely. It had always been his nature, to turn a blind eye to everything that hurt him.

But on the third day, Ciel came down with a fever.

Sebastian didn’t catch it at first. The heir had always been irritable, constantly complaining of the temperature no matter how hot or cold. He was not surprised by his fatigue either, how ill his beaten face looked, and the bruises hidden under his clothes that only time would heal.

He didn’t panic until they settled in the foothills of the Wasatch mountains, the grass pink with twilight, and Ciel refused to take even a small bite of warm sofkee.

“I don’t feel so good,” he mumbled.

Sebastian tugged his glove off with his teeth, bowl of sofkee balanced in one hand while the other touched the heir’s brow. The boy was so drowsy he leaned into it, blinking like his eyelashes were the weight of lead.

“Feel cold,” he explained.

Sebastian swallowed as his knuckles brushed over hot skin.

“You’re getting feverish,” the hunter said.

Ciel replied with a petulant whine, curling up on himself as he rubbed the heel of his hand into his florid cheek. Sebastian picked up his bandaged hand and pressed his skin into the tender flesh beneath.

“Ain’t too bad,” he told him. “Don’t look like it wants to infect.”

The heir sniffled, tired beyond reason.

“You don’t want no food?” Sebastian tried again, nodding to the bowl.

Ciel shook his head. His cheeks were pink, his hair stuck to his forehead. Sebastian shovelled a spoonful of sofkee into his own mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

“Read to me,” Ciel whined.

Sebastian paused, rice stuck to his lip. He stared at Ciel and the kid looked back with a solemn expression.

“You serious?”

Ciel nodded, pushing his bottom lip out just the slightest. He frowned, so riddled with fever that the fact the hunter were illiterate escaped his mind. He looked pitiful, so young and drunk with illness, that Sebastian couldn’t help his sadistic snort.

“You _know_ I can’t read,” he said around another mouthful, slurring his words. “Or did you go forget that, huh?”

He jabbed the heir between his eyes, pointing to where his brain should be, and the boy rocked back a little. He frowned again, that dumb and childlike pout.

“ _Please_ ,” he tried, voice rough where he drawled out the sound.

“Fine,” Sebastian huffed.

He found a book in Ciel’s saddlebag, one amongst many, and took a seat across from the fire, back pressed up against a fallen log. Ciel wormed his way over to him, legs tucked beneath his body like a fawn and went as far to press his side into Sebastian’s chest. He made a line of heat, shoulder to hip, and the man sighed as he flipped the book open to the first page.

When he’d been a boy, Sebastian had always thought if he concentrated hard enough the words would eventually make sense to him. But all his life he'd tried, and all it ever earned him was a headache. His chest swelled with embarrassment, but before he could slam the book shut Ciel’s finger came down and traced along the first, mysterious word.

“It,” Ciel read.

Sebastian pressed his tongue into his cheek and squashed down the last of his pride. “It,” he repeated.

There was a long silence that followed. Ciel looked up, his tepid cheek pressed to Sebastian’s shoulder, the most naive of frowns between his brow. The hunter clenched his hand, his face warm. But the heir only blinked, and shifted his finger to the next word.

“Is,” he offered.

“Is.”

“A truth.”

“Heiress...”

Ciel's look housed no pity. Perhaps he were so warm with fever he wouldn’t remember how incompetent the hunter was, how foolish he felt to follow each word with his own unintelligent echo.

“A truth,” Sebastian muttered.

Ciel offered him a smile, one that tugged at the black and healing cut against his lip, and moved his finger on to the next word.

“Universally acknowledged,” Ciel drawled.

“U-universally acknowledged.”

He continued to read each word out for the hunter until he came to a stop, and his hand fell away from the page. His face pressed close to his skin and Sebastian was reluctant to admit he liked the closeness, as if his skin itched for touch although his head told him to hate it.

He waited for his next instruction, but the heir’s breathing had slowed and his head was heavy against Sebastian’s shoulder. When he brushed back a lock of hair he saw the heir was sleeping. Sebastian sighed, pushing his fringe back behind his ear. Very slowly, and very cautiously, he leaned down and pressed his nose to the crown of Ciel’s hair. He inhaled, sun-warm scent and faint perfume.

Then he forced himself to pull away, nothing but the open book and the moon to keep him company. The first sentence no longer looked strange to him, the words familiar enough to shape his tongue around. So, as the heir fell into a fever-addled state against his chest, Sebastian read out the first sentence again.

And then once more, for good measure.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

After a week, the silence became unpleasant.

A familiar bead of guilt sat snug in Sebastian’s chest. He wasn’t a stranger to Ciel’s bouts of childish silence, but seven days of it made his chest so tight he struggled to breathe.

Ciel no longer followed him with that expression, the one that begged for gratitude, for anything that recognised what he had done for Sebastian. It was as if he’d given up, made peace with Sebastian’s indifference to his pain, and that ate away at the hunter like nothing else.

Once the trees thinned out and the hills were thick with grass, Sebastian became the one who stared. He watched Ciel constantly, waiting for the smallest glance, a little nod of companionship. He got nothing, not even a morsel, and he starved while Ciel’s pretty face looked sadder with each passing day.

On the eighth morning he watched Ciel struggle with his hair.

He couldn’t plait with his hand bandaged, fingers clumsy as they struggled to braid his hair. The strands twisted together, as crooked as the ones Sebastian had given his mother as a child. The hunter watched the kid suffer, heard him swear under his breath when grey locks slipped loose over and over. He walked over and snatched the ribbons from Ciel’s hand, and crouched down in the grass behind his back.

“You’re making a dern mess,” he muttered, untangling the messy braid.

Ciel didn’t say a word, still uncharacteristically quiet. Sebastian missed the way the fever had loosened his lips, or the way whiskey awoke a rare affection inside the boy. He was left with a stone cold sober heir, cooler than the meadow air, and as sullen as his cheeks.

He split his hair in two, and then split it three times more each side. Ciel’s hair was soft, so silky it easily slipped free of his calloused hands. He combed it into braids, so invested in his task the sky might have fallen and he would not have noticed it.

When he tied the last ribbon in place, his palm smoothing down the thick rope of Ciel’s plait, the heir made to stand up. Instinctually, Sebastian grabbed the braid and tugged Ciel back into the grass, a gasp upon his lips.

“Wait,” Sebastian breathed.

Ciel said nothing. The tension in his shoulders remained, his jaw locked. The hunter exhaled, eyes flicking to the bare patch of skin above the boy’s collar.

“Thank you,” he said, and let go of the braid.

Ciel turned very slightly, his eyelashes coming into view. The swelling in his face had receded, his face still mottled with colour but recognisably his again. The boy opened his mouth, frowned, and closed it.

“For what?” He asked after a while, voice rough from refusing to speak for so long.

He sounded innocent, but Sebastian could see that sad look behind his eye.

“Thank you,” the hunter forced himself to say, “for saving me.”

There was no laugh, nor expected expression of smugness. The words did just the opposite to Ciel, his dramatic face lightening as if a weight raised off his chest. His mouth curved up, a smile so radiant it put the meadow around them to shame, and Sebastian was reminded of how young Ciel was. Just a kid, really.

“It's nothing,” Ciel breathed, suddenly bashful. “You would have done the same for me, right?”

Sebastian opened his mouth to sneer at the remark – but the heir was correct. He would have done the same in a second, and he wouldn’t have fussed around for as long as Ciel had. He would have put his hand in the boiling water for the boy, even if it were elbow deep.

“Right,” he mumbled, earning another coy smile.

The tension bled right out of Ciel’s body, as if the boy could look into his mind and know Sebastian would undoubtably die for him.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

The next day the grass-speckled hills melted into sand.

They rode towards a line of shimmering dust, the horizon beyond hardly as inspiring as the snow-capped and luscious scene they put behind their backs. They rode until the mountains became hazy and the memory of Wasatch was nothing but a bruise.

They rode on until they reached a crossroad, and the two men paused to wipe the collected sweat from beneath their wide-brimmed hats.

“Hummingbird ain’t but a few days ride from here,” Sebastian told the heir.

He tugged at Diablo’s reins, the stallion growing moody in the heat, and unusually disobedient as of late. The horse padded over to Rabbit, snuffling the side of her head, until Sebastian pulled her back.

The heir sighed, staring with disinterest in the direction of the small town. Sebastian wondered if he felt the same tug of melancholy as he did, the unwillingness to return to civilisation after so long spent in the silent embrace of the wild.

“I don’t want no one to see me like this,” Ciel said, tucking back his hair.

Sebastian thought he looked fine. Beautiful, even. The bruises did nothing to diminish his natural splendour, and in some ways only heightened it.

Swallowing, Sebastian looked past his pretty face and in the direction of Arizona, shining like a mirage to the south.

“I know a place,” he told the heir. “Where we could lay low a day or two.”

Ciel looked up at him, sunlight filtering through his hair. Something other than misery sparkled in his baby-blue eye, and he turned towards the horizon.

“South?”

Sebastian hummed, tugging Diablo away from Rabbit again. The mare fussed at him, flicking her tail. Ciel soothed her with his flat pal, sapphire ring catching in the sun.

“Do you trust me?” The hunter asked.

“You know I do, Bastian.”

His tone made the older man go stiff, the insects return to his stomach so violently he had to nudge Diablo and ride past Ciel, hiding his darkened face.

“Do you trust me?” The heir echoed from behind.

“What kind of stupid question is that?” Sebastian muttered, staring at the sun.

In his peripheral, he saw Ciel smile.

“South then,” the heir announced, catching up to the hunter. “Where are we going?”

Sebastian shrugged, the insects still loud inside his gut.

“Ain’t gon’ be special if I tell you,” he said.

“You’re taking me somewhere special?” Ciel said, eye bright and mouth curving into something sinuous. “Why Sebastian, if I had any idea I might have dressed a little nicer.”

He made a show of sitting straighter, flicking his hair over one shoulder and adopting an aristocratic posture that wasn’t entirely an act. It made Sebastian snort, and Ciel only grinned wider, pleasantly smug again.

“Shut the fuck up,” Sebastian growled.

Ciel pressed his lips together, but the silence was no longer miserable.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel woke to Sebastian looming over him.

He drew in a breath, startling at the hunter's hand squeezing his shoulder, shaking him awake. The heir groaned, rubbing his sore face with the heel of his hand, the cool temperature around their campsite creeping beneath his blankets when he shifted.

"Bastian?"

"Drink this, and get dressed."

A warm cup of coffee was pressed to his hand. The sky was still grey, the clearing silent but for the faint chatter of birds. Sebastian was alert but not panicked, sipping at his own coffee as he waited for the heir to blink the sleep out of his eye.

"Want to show you something," he explained.

Ciel got up, toed into his boots and pulled his hair back into a ponytail, mouthing sloppy sips of coffee as he tried to dress and drink at the same time. He couldn't fathom what Sebastian needed to show him that couldn't wait until daybreak - but it was hard to argue with a man who had stubble dusted on his jaw, and hair still charmingly tousselled from sleep. 

Sebastian lead Ciel through the juniper trees, the grey light turning pink as the sun came up beyond the horizon. The trees were crooked, crumbling rock stacked up between the trunks, and Sebastian held out his hand to help the heir step up and over the highest of them. Ciel squeezed his fingers between the man's until they locked in place, and to his delight Sebastian didn't let go.

Peach-coloured light began to filter through the tree branches, Sebastian's eyes reflecting the bright ocre of the rock. The hunter didn't speak, only lead him through the trees, and the secrecy and urgency of the situation made something prickle in the teenager's stomach.

"Close your eyes," Sebastian said, just as the light got so bright they had to squint.

Ciel twitched his nose but closed his eye, letting Sebastian put his free hand against the small of his back. He could smell the man's skin, his clothes and his sweat as he stepped close and guided the heir through the last break of trees, out into the open where a cool breeze lapped at their ankles.

The hand on the small of his back trailed briefly up his spine, and Ciel's breath caught when a voice spoke very closely to his ear. 

"Open them."

Before them was a canyon so wide across Ciel couldn't see the other side. The rock cliff gave way three feet before his boots, crumbling into a steep cavern, apricot and lavender stripes of sediment forming jagged towers between the heir and the endless, pale sky.

Ciel made a sound like he'd been wounded, the sight so pretty he wanted to sob. He put his bandaged fingers to his lips, stifling the next overwhelmed noise he made.

"Lord," he whispered.

Sebastian hummed, made a noise of approval as he drank the sight in beside the heir. His brown skin caught the light, his hair soft and shiny as the sun hit it. His eyes, most beautiful of all, reflected all that Ciel could see - the expanse of carmine rock, the colour only increasing as the sun crawled higher into the sky.

"Makes everything else seem small, don't it?" Sebastian said.

Ciel nodded, his heart full, the hairs on the back of his neck raised. The canyon was so big he felt insignificant, and instead of making him miserable, it felt comforting instead.

It was so big he forgot who he was, and why he'd come here. Sebastian's silence beside him made him wonder if he felt the same way, humbled by his existence, a powerless shadow of a man in the face of something as raw as the wild.

It was so big that Ciel considered, for the first time since his brother died, that life might be worth living if he got to come back here again one day.

He released the sigh that stayed bottled up inside his chest, still clinging to Sebastian's hand as the sun rose over the canyon.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if you enjoyed this chapter. Kudos/comments are so hugely appreciated.  
> You can also talk to me on Tumblr, I love exploring headcanons, and I love getting asks: bun-o-ween


	16. Grand Canyon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a thank you gift for helping me reach 800 kudos. I'm so unbelievably thankful, thank you everyone who has kudosed and commented so far - the encouragement helps me to write quicker, it helps me to believe in myself.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this chapter - it's my favourite I've written so far.

Beneath the bed Sebastian and his mamá shared was a crawlspace.

It was little. Just big enough to fit a boy who was smaller than most thirteen-year-olds should be. The space was dusty, it was dark. When Sebastian crawled inside it he felt trapped – cool earth pressed against one rib, crooked rock crushing down against another.

But it was safe, and so flawlessly concealed against the dirt and the wall, that when Jesse Bluit lifted the flimsy bed away from the floor he didn’t see the kid hiding at his feet.

“Where is he?”

Sebastian could see through a split in the rock, his mamá on her knees in the middle of their home. Familiar boots circled her, black and shiny, the silver stirrup clinking as Sebastian’s daddy paced up and down the dirt floor.

Jesse put the bed back down against the earth, his own tan boots shifting in the dirt and sending a breath of dust into the crawlspace. Sebastian covered his mouth and closed his eyes.

“ _No se_ ,” said his mamá, using the quiet voice she reserved for whenever Addison came to town.

There was a _smack_ , a startled yelp. Sebastian’s heart turned to rock, his hand squeezing his own mouth to stifle the sound he made in kin to his mamá's suffering.

“Speak _fucking_ English when I talk to you!”

Addison’s boots clinked as he rushed at her, another _smack_ , another cry when Lucrecia fell backwards onto the dirt, that black and shiny boot pressed down against her chest. Her hair fanned out under her, hands either side of her face in submission.

“I d-don’t know,” she said again, her accent thick, mouth unsure as she sounded out the words.

“You check the stable?” Addison said, this time to Jesse. “What about the river bed up north? I’ve seen him playing there before.”

“Ain’t seen him nowhere,” Jesse murmured.

Lucrecia turned her head until her cheek pressed against the dirt. Her chest was rising and struggling under the boot, her jaw locked and chin quivering. But her eyes looked at the place Sebastian hid, her hand shifting to her mouth to press one finger against her lips.

 _Shh_.

Then Addison crouched down between her and the bed, and Sebastian couldn’t see her no more.

“You best tell me where that boy is, Lucrecia. I ain’t leaving here without him.”

His father’s voice was low, so quiet Sebastian could hardly hear him over the pounding of his heart. His leg was numb where it was pinned under his body, but he didn’t dare move an inch.

“I don’t, I d- _don't_ know.”

Jesse made a noise, his boots shifting. Addison leaned down towards the woman and his blonde hair came into view. He grabbed Lucrecia’s jaw and squeezed, working a nervous noise out of her mouth.

“You don’t know where your _beloved_ little bastard is?” He whispered. “I don’t believe you, bitch. Tell me where he is or I’ll make you watch while I kill him.”

Lucrecia sobbed. Sebastian flattened himself deeper into the dirt. He was not surprised by what his daddy said – he had seen it in his eyes, the contempt. He always feared Addison would come back and kill him like he'd threatened to for years.

“He’s your s-son,” Lucrecia stuttered.

“Then by that right I can do whatever I like to him. Last chance, Lucrecia. Your life, or his.”

Addison stood, and Sebastian saw a strange look come over his mama's face. He'd not seen it before, the way her face steeled itself, the way she lifted her chin up and her eyes blackened, like a woman possessed.

Sebastian followed his father’s boots as he walked to the entrance of their home. He saw his hand reach down and take the rock that kept the door open. It slid shut when he took it, and the sliver of light that illuminated his mamá diminished.

As he walked back to her body she turned her cheek and looked at Sebastian again. She didn’t do anything to betray his position, but her eyes told the boy to stay put.

“ _Sebastian_ ,” Addison whispered, his voice eerie and sing-song. “If you’re listening why don’t you come on out?”

Lucrecia's eyes narrowed at the crawlspace in the floor. She didn’t speak, didn’t have to. Sebastian could hear her voice, clear as a bell.

 _Don’t you ever come out when he’s in here. Don’t you ever come out, no matter what he says_.

“You don’t want me to kill your mommy, right?”

Sebastian's stomach twisted up into a knot. He kept his hands over his mouth, his throat tight where his heart had forced it's way into his oesophagus.

“C’mon now, sweetheart. Ain’t gonna hurt you.”

Jesse sniggered. Addison stood over Lucrecia.

A silence befell the little home, so still that Sebastian held his breath through the entirety. When it was over, he could have sworn his mother’s carmine eyes flickered with pride.

Addison crouched down over her again, the rock still clutched in his hand. With the other he turned her face toward him, her eyes reluctant to leave her son’s. He got down close to her, his stubbled maw visible to the boy.

“I'm gonna beat your head in if you don’t tell me where he’s hiding, whore.”

Lucrecia inhaled, her chest swelling as the hand beside her head coiled into a fist.

“No,” she said – her voice steady, and loud.

Her mouth curled up into a smile, but it was not a happy one. It was proud, and hateful, full of fire – and it was the last thing Sebastian saw before Addison bought the rock down on her face.

The sick, loud _crack_ of her skull smothered Sebastian’s scream.

Addison hit her again, and again – her bare feet kicking the dirt until a cloud of it whispered over the floor, finally going still when the rock came down a fourth time. Her fingers twitched, her mouth open in shock, her face blood red and sticky, like tree sap, and caved in – no longer human, just pulverized meat and bone.

Addison smacked her until her face was gone, skin just as dark as her hair – and a pool of blood leaked out from the base of her neck. It collected in a river, a shining line of blood that dribbled downhill through the sand, making its way into the crawlspace.

The blood dripped down between the rocks and seeped into Sebastian’s shirt. It gathered under his knees, on his hands which clamped his hysterical scream inside his mouth. It soaked into his hair, into his ear pressed to the ground.

The rock hit the ground with a _thud_.

Addison stood, and murmured something. Sebastian couldn’t hear it, and his eyes remained locked on the remains of his mama's body. His father’s boots shuffled over the earth, the sound distant, Sebastian sinking through the dirt floor and into the earth, his soul descending until it could fall no further.

He held his breath until his lungs caught aflame, squeezed his face until his nails bit into his skin. Tears blurred his vision, made his mother’s corpse warp and wriggle, dripped down his cheeks to join the blood pooling in his safe place.

Sebastian watched the men step over his mamá, and when they opened the door again the light fell on her mutilated face. Then it was gone, and the boy was left alone with the body.

“Mamá.”

He crawled out from beneath the bed. The dirt under his hands was glued with tepid blood. The body that he moved towards so silent that his ears rung.

“Mamá?” He said again, just in case.

He reached for her hand, still warm. It made him sob, press his dusty face into her blood-speckled blouse and rest his cheek against her heart. The echo of his own pulse calling back to him only made him cry harder, shoulders shaking as he emptied his soul into her chest, clinging to her until her skin finally went cold.

He covered her face with a blanket from the bed. Then, with her remains masked, he pressed a shaking kiss to her forehead. He reached for her hand again but the chilling fingers made him shudder. He staggered out the cabin as the sun slipped beneath the horizon.

He waited all night on the hill that overlooked his home.

The stars rose above him, his legs pressed to his chest as he sat amongst the tall grass. He waited all night, until the dawn arrived, and Jesse and Addison came with it. He watched them raid the property, watched them sit and wait for him to come home. Sebastian watched until sleep possessed him, and he passed out on his back as the sun rose above his body.

He woke to a prickling all over his skin.

Fingers brushed against his cheek, the grass beside his head trod down by heavy hooves.

“C’mon son,” said a familiar voice.

Sebastian opened his eyes to an offered hand, to skin darker than his own. He took the calloused palm, his body crying out in pain as he sat up and saw his skin had turned red while he slept. His stomach ached from hunger, his heart hurt even worse.

“That’s a nasty burn,” the man said, kind eyes crinkling as he took in Sebastian’s poor appearance.

His eyes went to his bloody shirt, the dried flakes still clinging to his hands and cheek. The man glanced up towards his home, the smile disappearing from his face.

“Stay here,” he said to the boy, and to his son who had just arrived, breath ragged as he ran up the far slope of the hill they sat upon.

“Sebastian!”

Agni’s hair was a flash of white, his chest ragged when he kneeled down and cupped Sebastian’s head. He smoothed back his hair, checked him for damage, and the concern in the seventeen-year-old's pretty, grey eyes finally broke Sebastian into tears.

“Sebastian, what happened?”

Agni’s voice had broke two summers before, his worry low in his chest when he spoke. Sebastian felt it where they pressed together but he couldn’t open his mouth to reply.

Inside he could feel something eroding, disappearing inside him. He couldn’t describe it to his friend. Everything good, everything gentle melted away. His heart drained of colour and his jaw locked in place, a frown set in place that would last for the next twelve years.

“Sebastian?”

It was gone. All the tender things, everything happy and hopeful and soft. In that moment it clicked over, and Sebastian ceased to be a boy, and became a man.

A cold, miserable man.

“Sebastian.”

He woke up with a gasp.

Rain fell against the brim of his hat, pattered on the leather of his boots. He wiped his face, damp with the downpour, and felt that he was crying too. The dark night slowly came into focus, black and dripping, the thicket of trees and grass they'd come upon halfway down the wall of the canyon.

“Sebastian?”

Ciel kneeled in the mouth of his tent, wearing only his silk pyjamas. His white skin stood out in the dark camp, his eyebrows drawn together in concern. Sebastian wiped his face again, fingers shaking, chest aching from his dream. The heir pad across the earth between them and took his head between his hands.

“It's only me,” he said, when Sebastian flinched. “You’re soaked,” he added in a gentle voice, then reached for his hand. “Come on.”

Sebastian wanted to bristle, tell the boy he’d slept in much worse before, that rain didn’t bother him the slightest – but the dream had left him mute, and trembling, and vulnerable. The warm tent, and Ciel’s gentle demeanour, seemed mighty attractive in the middle of the cold, wet night.

The tent was small. Sebastian lingered in the mouth of it, the smell of Ciel strongest inside. The boy tugged his hand again, so he shrugged off his wet coat and kicked off his boots. He ducked his head and crawled under the canvas, hands and knees until he loomed right over the recumbent heir. Then he laid down on his side, Ciel reflecting him, and the boy tugged his fur blanket over both of them.

“ _Lord_ , Bastian. You’re shaking like a leaf.”

Ciel’s strap had slipped down one shoulder, too much of his clavicle exposed. Faint freckles littered the pale skin, Sebastian’s eyes examining each one as he struggled to remember how to breathe.

“Nightmare,” he muttered.

Ciel reached up and brushed back his wet hair, combing it behind his ear. Sebastian sucked in a deep breath, screwing his eyes shut when the boy touched him.

“About your mamá?”

He nodded, and Ciel’s palm lingered against his cheek.

“You were calling her name.”

Sebastian tensed. Ciel made a noise in his chest, the feel of it vibrating between them where their skin almost touched. He pet the side of Sebastian’s face, only letting go in favour of grabbing his wrist.

“Look at you,” he cooed, “You sleep in these?”

He tugged at the fingers of his glove, peeling the damp leather off his hand. Sebastian cleared his throat, wet his lips and forced himself to speak.

“A-ain't all of us able to afford silk p-pyjamas.”

His voice shook from the cold, from his dream – but Ciel shot him a smile. His face, no longer swollen but still colourful with bruises, looked pretty in the dark. He was everything the nightmare wasn’t – calm, and his beauty was distracting enough to still the hunter’s heart.

Ciel squeezed his bare fingers like a prize, warm and dry, the bandage of his burned hand scratching Sebastian’s wrist as he moved his hand and placed it on his hip, wriggling closer under the blankets until their chests touched. Ciel’s knees bumped against his, his head tucked against the arm Sebastian had beneath him, his chest pressed to his cheek.

“You’re warm,” he breathed.

The skin under his hand burned. Sebastian didn’t know if Ciel had purposefully placed his palm against the bare skin between his silk shirt and silk shorts, but his fingers dipped beneath the fabric to relish in it. His heart hammered, every muscle in his arm locked in place.

Ciel's mouth curled up like he couldn’t feel the way the man shook, or see the way he swallowed a peach pit past his throat. He blinked, disturbingly benign.

With inhuman strength, Sebastian forced his arm to move.

His knuckles brushed up the line of Ciel’s arm, his freckles, and two fingers slid his shoulder strap back into place. Ciel stayed still for him, a willing doll, and let him curl one finger around the silver crucifix on his throat.

“You ain’t honestly believe in him, do you?”

He tugged at it, still thinking of his mamá, her smashed and bleeding face. Ciel huffed, catching his plump lip between his teeth and letting it go.

“My brother wore it while he was eviscerated,” Ciel whispered, his finger joining Sebastian’s against the cross. “I wear it to remind myself he _doesn’t_ exist.”

Sebastian, simultaneously disturbed and impressed, raised one eyebrow and pressed his lips into a line. Ciel wormed even closer, and when the strap of his top slipped down again he didn’t bother to correct it. Sebastian’s eyes wandered down to the exposed flesh, bewitched by the milky skin revealed.

“Why?” Breathed the heir, so close to his mouth he could taste his breath. “Do you believe in God?”

Sebastian couldn’t lift his lashes from the heir’s chest. His cock twitched as he stared at Ciel’s forbidden, pink nipple, the same colour as his glossy mouth.

“No,” he replied, dragging his eyes up from his chest to stare into Ciel’s wide, unearthly pupil. “But I believe in devils. After all, I’m holding one right now.”

He dug his fingers into Ciel’s side until the boy yelped, the calm spell broken as he shrieked, smacking his good fist into Sebastian’s chest. The man groaned as he hit his stab wound, falling flat on his back to catch his breath, teeth grit as the heir hit him once more.

“You’re insufferable,” Ciel muttered, raised on one elbow to stare down at him.

Sebastian observed his long, grey hair, the way his bare thighs pressed against his skin under the blankets, the rain still pattering ahead.

“You’re mouthy,” Sebastian growled back at him.

The boy wilted, rolling his eye back into his head and lowering himself back into the blankets. He rest his head against Sebastian’s chest, one arm slung around his waist like it had always belonged there.

Ciel’s hair fell in locks under his chin, so close he could smell it, surreally sweet after months out on the trail. He turned his head to press his nose to the heir’s scalp, inhaling so deeply the boy rose on the swell of his chest.

“Goodnight, Bastian.”

Sebastian swallowed, glancing through his lashes at the raindrops hitting the canvas.

“Goodnight, heiress.”

The heir fell asleep a moment later, dulcet breathes that rolled out across Sebastian’s chest. But the hunter stayed awake, fingers itching for a cigarette, the insects waking up and taking flight inside his stomach.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian woke to the crackle of the campfire.

Sunlight filtered through the canvas, breeze tickling his ankle where it poked out of the tent. Birds chirped, and the horses nickered. Sebastian rubbed his palm over his stubble, curling into soft blankets that smelt of the young heir.

His stomach growled for food. Something lower hungered too, stiff and needy where it strained against his trousers.

The bounty hunter groaned, squeezing his cock with an annoyed grunt. He palmed it down with the heel of his hand, curling onto his side to suffocate his face in the sweet-smelling blankets. They only exacerbated the problem, his chest aching with a want in kin to the hot and heavy need between his legs.

“God fucking dammit,” he muttered, then crawled on out of the little tent.

The rain had dried up. The sun came up above the impressive walls around them, butter light that glimmered through the foliage and fell upon their camp.

The heir stood at the edge of the cliffs, the vibrant dirt crumbling to give way to a narrow passage that lead to the bottom. All his hair was tied up behind his head, the nape of his neck exposed. The morning breeze rustled his silk pyjamas, the hem of his shorts riding too high on the inside of his thigh.

Sebastian blinked at the view, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand, and wondered how a boy who'd been living on rations the past five months managed to have enough flesh on his ass to make it crease where it met his thigh.

The eighteen-year-old turned to the sound of him tugging on his boots, cup of his signature bad coffee in hand. He gave a once over to Sebastian’s rumpled clothes, little smile on his lips like he'd spent the night sleeping on a feather mattress and not the hunter’s chest.

“Morning,” he said, taking a sip of black poison. “Horses are acting strange.”

Sebastian glanced at Rabbit, the dust clouding around her hooves as she walked in prideful circles around the interested stallion. Diablo's ears perked up, leaning in to snuffle the speckled mare every time she trot past him.

The hunter snorted knowingly.

He shuffled over to the fire and stared down at the brewed coffee, the smell of which deceived his sleep-ridden brain into pouring a cup for himself. This time he didn’t balk at the taste, instead rolling it around his tongue to see if he could ever get used to it.

He spat it out a moment later, the chalky texture plastered to the roof of his mouth. Ciel watched, taking another sip from his own cup.

“I don’t know how the fuck you do it,” Sebastian muttered, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “This one’s even worse than the last.”

Ciel raised an eyebrow and flicked his ponytail over shoulder, taking a purposefully loud _slurp_ of his own coffee.

“I don’t expect you have good taste in anything,” the heir said, wrinkling his nose.

He turned his back on Sebastian, the man’s eyes wandering back down to the chubby flesh that poked out beneath his shorts.

“I don’t expect I do,” he said to himself, screwing his face up at his own behaviour.

He forced himself to watch the horses, Diablo nipping at Rabbit every time she got too close. The mare danced out of reach, tail flicking up again and again, eyes bright with sunlight as she raised her head and snuffled at Diablo’s side.

Sebastian locked his jaw and took another sip of coffee, wincing as he forced it down his throat. He glared through his eyelashes at the heir’s exposed nape, wondering what he'd do if he nipped at him the same way Diablo nipped at Rabbit.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

For the first time in many months, Ciel had nowhere to be, and nothing to do.

The feeling was as leisurely as it was exciting, seemed to lift a weight right off his shoulders the further they descended into the canyon. Not a soul could be seen, just the occasional deer, a little bird hopping through the grass. Ciel could not shaking the notion that the canyon belonged to he and Sebastian, and no one else.

He was even more delighted when they happened upon a pool of water, an oasis amongst crumbling orange rock. The water was colour of a clear day, so blue and bright that Ciel let out a cry upon the sight. Thickets of green surrounded the pool, and a waterfall tumbled off the brilliant rock, cascading into a froth of white in the centre of the pool.

He was off Rabbit before she'd slowed to a stop, hitching his hat upon his saddle and plucking the laces free of his boots. The water called to him, the miasma of fresh water kicked up from the fall. Suddenly Ciel was starved for it, his body aching for the pool, his skin covered in a film of terracotta dust. He was so thrilled he didn’t shy away at removing his shirt, and only blushed as he wriggled out of his trousers.

“Are you coming for a swim?” Ciel called out to Sebastian, stepping out of his trousers until all he wore were small, linen shorts.

“If you insist,” Sebastian drawled, his boots already sitting by the waterside, his vest crumpled in the dirt.

Ciel bit his lip as the man rid himself of his shirt too, his impressive, brown pectoral muscles shifting as he shrugged it off his arms. He unbuckled his belt and the heir turned to hide the blush that crept down his face and across the pale spread of his bare shoulders.

He waded out into the cool, releasing a sigh as the water came up to his navel. The ends of his hair caught the surface, his finger fanning out as he submerged himself, the water soaking into the fabric of his shorts.

He looked back, only to see Sebastian hook his thumbs into his underwear and tug them down his hips. Ciel turned back around so quick the water splashed, his face twice as pink as before.

“You ain’t wearing nothing,” he breathed as the naked man shouldered past him and into the deep.

Sebastian's back as was impressive as his front, with thick muscles that tapered down to the handsome narrow of his waist. He had a dimple at the base of his spine, just above the firm muscle of his backside, shifting as he waded out deeper.

“I ain’t no prude,” Sebastian grumbled, out so deep the water took him, and he headed for the falls.

“Neither am I,” Ciel hissed, chasing after him.

The hunter swam towards the waterfall, dipping his head under the heavy stream until the water plundered down his strong back. It tugged the knot from his hair loose, the strands sticking to his throat, all the way down to his collarbone.

Ciel paddled out to join him, breath caught in his throat as he slipped under the curtain of water and found himself in a cool pocket of rock and water, the reflections of the surface dancing over Sebastian’s wet and handsome face.

“Prove it,” Sebastian said, spitting out a mouthful of water. “That you ain’t no prude.”

Ciel’s nose twitched, the word said like it were poisonous. With his jaw locked in a displeased line he kicked out of his shorts, water too deep to touch the bottom, and put them on a rock beside the tumbling water.

“Everything, heiress.”

Sebastian stared him in the eye, his mouth curling up the slightest when he saw the colour drain from the heir’s face. Ciel touched his fingers to his eyepatch, his heart fluttering like a bird.

“No.”

Sebastian snorted. “Prude.”

“Fine,” Ciel whispered, cheeks pink, tugging free the strings of his eyepatch and placing it atop his shorts.

He kept his lashes downturned to conceal his eyes. All he could hear was the thundering of the waterfall, the trickle of water as it dripped off Sebastian’s jaw and rippled the water between them. The man came closer, his fingers going beneath Ciel’s chin to tilt his head up into the light.

Ciel glanced up at him, and Sebastian’s breath hitched.

Ciel squeezed his eyes shut at the sound, humiliation bleeding through him. He gripped the slippery rock beside him, white-knuckled, completely exposed.

“Does it hurt?” Sebastian asked.

His hand stayed cupped under his chin, his thumb finding the groove of his scar and tracing it upwards until it reached his eyelashes. Ciel fluttered them open again, daring himself to look up until both eyes were directed at the taller man.

He nodded, wetting his mouth.

“Ain’t so bad,” Sebastian said, still turning his head to observe every angle of his blind, white eye.

Ciel laughed, heart like a weight in his chest.

“I can’t stand to look at myself,” he breathed.

“I’m the one that has to look at you,” Sebastian commented, leaning closer as if to count each of Ciel’s eyelashes.

He observed the gap where some were missing, burnt off by the blaze of the bullet, his gaze so intense Ciel tried to buck out of it.

“I ain’t done yet,” Sebastian murmured, squeezing his face.

Ciel could not put a point on when he and Sebastian became so familiar with touching one another. He didn’t mind. Not at all. He hadn’t realised how starved he was for it until Sebastian overwhelmed him with his large body, crowding into his space to observe, eyes narrowed as he looked.

Ciel had spent seventeen years of his life with a hand always in reach of his to hold, and a body sleeping next to him every night, until _that_ night.

“You shouldn’t bother with the patch,” Sebastian said after a long, silent observation of his every flaw.

Ciel looked away, rubbing the heel of his hand against the tender scar, hiding it from sight.

“It ain’t becoming.”

“Says who?”

Ciel shot him a mean look. He didn’t realise how close he was to crying until Sebastian’s hand curled around his wrist and moved his fingers from his face.

“Look at me,” Ciel muttered. “You couldn’t possibly think I look attractive like this.”

His throat tightened as one hot, embarrassed tear dripped down his face. He could feel the scar burned into him, his permanent shame, the penance that he paid for the most unforgivable of sins.

“I think you look pretty,” Sebastian said.

Another tear dripped down Ciel’s cheek, and another and another, all from his one, good eye. The other blinked but did not cry, did not see, a phantom of it’s twin – just as Ciel was.

“Don’t lie to me, Sebastian.”

The hunter's eyes narrowed, his jaw locking so firm it flinched. He grabbed Ciel’s face again, his voice dropping to its lowest octave.

“Ain’t gon' lie to make some _chiqueado_ feel better about himself. You’re the prettiest fucking thing this side of the country, and you _know_ it heiress. We wouldn’t get into so much trouble if you weren’t so beautiful – DeWitt, Delacroix, the Fleming Brothers! They ain’t fawning over you because they think you’re _ugly_ , kid.”

Ciel was so startled he could only blink.

“Besides,” Sebastian growled, squeezing his cheek so hard it stung, “I can’t lie to you. It’s in my contract.”

He sounded out the word like it tasted bad, giving one last squeeze before he dropped Ciel and exhaled, hot and heavy. The heir breathed out his nose and frowned, opening his mouth to talk, only to realise he had no words to say.

“Quit looking at me like that,” the hunter muttered, rubbing at the hair that plastered to his throat.

Ciel knew his face was red, his skin prickling with blush. His fingers wavered by his cheek again, only touching in favour of hiding his scar.

“You think I’m pretty,” Ciel said against his fingers.

Sebastian snorted, his nostrils flaring as he sunk deeper into the water, his agitation coming off him so violently Ciel could feel the heat from it.

“It ain’t no compliment,” Sebastian bit, raising an eyebrow as he stared pointedly at the wall of falling water.

Ciel’s mouth formed an _oh_ sound, biting down on his lip to stop the flustered smile from appearing on his lips. His fingers twitched with nerves beneath the water, his heart still thumping in his chest.

That night in his tent he wrapped a hand around himself, one spit-slick finger buried between his legs, and worked himself to orgasm. He imagined brown, calloused hands splitting apart his legs, and a low and trembling voice telling him he was beautiful.

When he came it was so hard his legs quivered for an hour afterwards, black behind his eyes as he stifled his cry into the place that still smelt like Sebastian.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian was shaving his jaw when Ciel screamed.

He jumped, slicing his cheek in the process, but the pain came second to the panic that seized his chest when he heard that sound. He jumped up so quick his bowl of water tumbled over, spilling soap suds through the sand.

With his straight razor still clenched in his hand, his face half-lathered with soap, Sebastian stumbled through to clearing only to find Ciel safe and well, staring in horror at something across the camp from him.

“Sebastian,” the heir cried, still dressed in his pyjamas. “Your stallion is outraging my mare!”

The hunter's lips pressed together as he looked up to see Diablo mount the boy's cherished Appaloosa. The look on Ciel’s face was so wildly amusing to Sebastian that he feared he'd laugh at the sight, the colour drained from the kids face as if a thousand corpses were before him, and not two frisky horses.

The heir took a few steps forward, a look in his eyes like he was going to try break the horses up. Sebastian wiped his knuckles over the cut on his cheek, stomping over to grab Ciel by his waist before he could get trampled. He trapped him with a arm around his chest, the heir going tense and thrashing in his grip.

“Make him stop!” Ciel cried, wriggling with a strength that impressed the hunter. “He’s hurting her!”

Ciel’s voice became rough with hysterics, his expression so wounded it made the hunter’s own heart sink.

“He ain’t hurting her,” he said against the boy's ear, using his gentlest voice. “Look, she loves it.”

“She doesn't!” Ciel sobbed.

Sebastian's chest tightened, and when he looked up at the horses, who in his opinion were in good spirits, and excited, and both consenting – he forced himself to imagine it from Ciel’s perspective. The way Rabbit nickered, the flurry of their hooves across the sand. A struggle that might stir traumatic memories to the front of the young heir’s mind.

Sebastian ducked down and plucked the heir right off the ground. Ciel was easy to hitch over one shoulder, and the primitive part of Sebastian’s brain hummed in satisfaction as he carried his prize back to the campfire. The heir’s cheeks were streaked when he sat him down, still staring in panic in the direction of the horses.

“Listen to me,” Sebastian said, holding Ciel’s face to force him to stare into his eyes. “I _promise_ he ain’t hurting her.”

The heir swallowed, and he nodded minutely. When Sebastian let him go he seemed calm enough, content to sit by the fire and watch the man finish shaving his face.

“If she falls pregnant I’ll take it from your inheritance,” Ciel said after a while, picking at the bandage around his hand.

The burn had all but healed, the skin sensitive to sunshine, but no longer the pink and bubbled mess the hunter tended to all those days ago.

Sebastian looked up at his pompous tone, narrowed his eyes, and then went back to his work.

“Rabbit ain’t no good to me with foal,” Ciel added, and Sebastian dropped his razor into the water bowl, sighing loudly.

“I can’t ride her if she gets that way,” the heir complained. “Why don’t you teach your horse to keep to himself?”

Sebastian stared at his warped reflection in the frothy bowl of water at his boots. The heir irked him to no end, always making his blood race, and rarely in a pleasant way.

“Maybe Diablo got sick of Rabbit walking around like she’s better than him, and decided to show her who’s boss.”

In his peripheral, Ciel bristled.

“Maybe _Diablo_ shouldn’t assume he can paw all over my thoroughbred.”

“Thoroughbred,” Sebastian snorted. “She ain’t acting like no thoroughbred. If you ask me, she’s acting like a -”

“I _didn’t_ ask you,” Ciel hissed. “Your thick-skulled horse is harassing her.”

Wiping the last of the soap off his face, Sebastian stood up and loomed over the heir until their noses almost touched.

“If she don’t want to be harassed tell your _thoroughbred_ to quit prancing around like she’s hot for it, heiress.”

Ciel’s breath hitched, his cheeks a dreamy colour as he stared up at the hunter. He swallowed, pretty throat framed by locks of gossamer hair, crucifix glimmering on his clavicle.

“The fuck are you staring at?”

Ciel’s eye flicked up the column of his throat, examining the handiwork of his freshly shaven skin.

“You look handsome when you shave,” he muttered, raising his chin up like he didn’t want to say it, like it were an unavoidable truth.

It was Sebastian’s turn to tense up, the word causing him to falter. _Handsome_. He hated the word. It stung him just as bad as _stupid_ , made him shudder just like _half-breed_. Perhaps it was the worst of all three insults, wrapped up like a pretty word, but only used to wound him.

“Don’t tease me, heiress.”

Sebastian knew who he was, and he _knew_ he was not handsome. He straightened up and shoved past the kid, his face hot with embarrassment.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

One fortnight in the canyon, and Sebastian finished chapter one of the book they read together.

Ciel’s chest swelled with pride, glancing up at Sebastian’s face to see if the same emotion was reflected. Sebastian was still staring at the page, frown between his eyebrows, like he didn’t know what to make of the small milestone.

“Congratulations,” Ciel breathed, daring to place his hand against Sebastian’s leg, squeezing the muscle beneath the fabric. “You’re a fast learner.”

It was always difficult to tell when Sebastian was happy as the man never smiled. But Ciel watched his eyes soften at the praise, a vulnerability reflected in his eyes that made him look just like a boy.

“I’m so impressed by you,” Ciel added, just to see his eyes brighten further, the frown disappear and replace itself with gentle temperament.

Even the tips of the man’s ears darkened, his jaw locked in place as he managed a small gulp. Ciel glanced down at Sebastian’s mouth, his lips strong and full and handsomely shaped, dry from reading, inviting all the same. He imagined leaning in and stealing a kiss.

The thought alone made his heart race, a tug beneath his navel that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

“You don’t think I’m stupid?” The man said, his voice uncharacteristically small.

Ciel shook his head. He thought Sebastian was many things, but stupid was not one of them.

“I think you’re plenty smart,” Ciel smiled, squeezing his leg again.

This time Sebastian made a rumbling sound inside his chest. He shifted closer to the heir, still looking at him with that utterly unguarded, dream-like expression.

“What you want for supper?”

Ciel contained his smile by biting down on his lip, sucking at the flesh as he pretended to think it over.

“Peach curry?” He tried.

Sebastian made the rumbling sound again, like an oversized cat, and the corner of his mouth quirked up in mimicry of a smile.

“Good answer,” he said, leaning in a hair's width closer, his breath fanning across Ciel’s cheek, before standing up and going over to the fire.

Ciel’s heart felt like a bird, the wings of which fluttered against his ribs. He rubbed his face, trying to extinguish the smile that crawled up into his cheek. Everything was beautiful – the setting sun, the flickering fire, and the handsome man who cooked for him.

Ciel stood up and wandered past Sebastian, purposefully stepping very close to him as if his scent might stir the man. The hunter looked up from the fire, a peach in one hand and a knife in the other. His eyes lingered as Ciel moved past, never once breaking contact until the heir had moved out of sight.

The eighteen-year-old walked to the edge of their camp, the Colorado River on fire as the sun settled on the horizon. The walls of the canyon either side of them illuminated a brilliant colour, the atmosphere thick with yellow sunlight, the type that stirred wonderment in the young man’s stomach.

Something shifted across the landscape, moving in front of the sun. Ciel squinted his eye as he stared into it, stepping closer to the mirage that tight-roped along the horizon.

The figure turned and looked at Ciel, two blue eyes glancing up and making contact with his own. His mirror image smiled, but it lacked warmth. Ciel’s smile fell as his twin turned and looked at him.

His image flickered as dust motes passed through him, his eyes unblinking, a line of blood dripping down one knee and disappearing into the sunset. He stared with a calm, beseeching manner – lingering.

Waiting.

“Heiress,” came a voice from far away, brushing by Ciel’s ear like an insect.

Ciel took another step forward, his boot melting into the sticky mud of the river bank. A hand grabbed him by his arm, and the image of his twin fluttered, then disappeared like a wisp of smoke.

“Heiress,” came the voice again, now closer to his ear.

Ciel turned to find Sebastian standing next to him, his face concerned, his fingers fitting easily around the width of his arm. In his other hand the pit of a peach, fingers sticky with its nectar.

“What’s wrong?” He asked. “Where did you go?”

Ciel shook his head, trying to focus on the smell of fresh cut peaches, the smouldering fire, and not the memory of his brother's blood coagulating on his fingers.

“I just…” He looked back at the sunset but it was empty, the vivid pink bleeding out into grey. “I think we should go back tomorrow.”

“What?”

“We're wasting time,” Ciel said, unable to meet Sebastian’s eyes. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I just want it to be over.”

Sebastian didn’t respond, and when Ciel forced himself to look up the man was staring at the dirt, the softness gone, replaced with a frown he often reserved for words that were too long for him to read.

“Okay,” he said after a moment of silence, letting go of Ciel’s arm.

He pitched the pit into the river, disappearing in the blackening surface with a _plop_. Then he walked back to the fire, leaving Ciel to watch the stars come out alone.

The boy watched the peach pit sink to the bottom of the river, his heart along with it.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE let me know if you liked this chapter, by commenting or shooting me an ask on Tumblr (bun-o-ween), I love feedback and discussing theories!! Also, if you want to see quick updates, drop a kudos down below if you haven't already. It's like cocaine for writers <3


	17. The Death of Angel Allison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Once again I was incredibly moved by the kudos, the comments, and the support the last chapter got! Here is another little thank you, a fast update for being so phenomenally kind to me.
> 
> Although, a warning. There's a heterosexual sex scene in this chapter. I feel like I need to warn you guys? But also, you're all adults (if you're not, why are you here?) - you'll be able to see where the scene begins and where it ends, so I trust if you have any qualms towards that sort of thing you'll be easily able to navigate around it.
> 
> Enjoy! :D

Angel Allison was a small man.

He wasn’t much to look at, middle-aged, with a beard that was in dire need of a wash. Sebastian didn’t know him but he hated him, just as he hated every man who had ever laid hands on Ciel Phantomhive.

Angel was so slight that Sebastian figured he might blow to pieces if he pulled his trigger, one eye squeezed shut as he followed the man with the scope on his rifle. The outlaw had no idea he was being watched, hunching over his fire as he poked at bacon strips popping on a skillet.

By Angel's saddle sat a second figure, much smaller than he. Sebastian squinted, crawling forward in the dirt on his lookout until he made out the shape of a child. Her hair was long and blacker than the desert night, dressed in a dusty nightgown with her ankles and her wrists bound tight.

“He’s got a kid,” Sebastian murmured.

Ciel was a warm line beside him, running hip to shoulder. The hot June air stirred the smell of his sweat and perfume, his long hair pulled into a braid to keep it sticking to his tepid skin.

The heir wriggled closer, looking down the scope at the child.

“Lord,” the heir whispered. “What’s he doing with that girl?”

“I imagine he’s gon' sell her,” Sebastian replied.

Ciel got up on his elbows to look at the hunter, mouth parted in shock. He looked surprised, heartbroken even. Sebastian snorted, leaning back into the viewfinder of his rifle.

“What’s the matter, heiress? Thought Louisiana was mighty relaxed when it came to slavery.”

Ciel bristled, his shocked expression falling into one of scorn. He raised his chin, gloved hand bunched in a fist. Sebastian paid him no mind, turning back to Angel Allison and his pint-sized prisoner.

“Well don’t shoot him,” the heir ordered. “I'd hate to scare her more than she’s already been scared.”

Sebastian pressed his tongue into his cheek.

“Oh?” He drawled. “So you ain’t planning on beheading Angel tonight?”

“I plan to kill him civilly.”

This time Sebastian laughed so hard the dirt below him blew away with the sound. It came out like a bark, and even Angel perked up and looked around for the source of the sound.

“Ain’t nothing civil about you heiress,” Sebastian sneered. “I bet you’re even wearing that whore lingerie beneath your clothes.”

Ciel said nothing, staring dead ahead into the desert night. His nose twitched, his eye closing when Sebastian put down his rifle and tugged the collar of his shirt down. Sure enough, black lace cut across the pale line of his shoulder.

“Knew it,” Sebastian spat, simultaneously thrilled and disgusted. “You always get real messy when you dress like that.”

Ciel readjusted his collar to hide his lingerie, pursing his lips at Sebastian’s tone. His cheeks were flustered pink from the warm night, his skin clear and milky, aside from the faded yellow mottling on the crest of his fair cheekbone.

“Angel _deserves_ messy,” Ciel said, lowering his voice. “I won’t kill him in front of the girl, but that’s the last kindness I’ll reward him. I can’t forget what he did to my brother, and I intend to make him suffer for as long and as horribly as I can.”

Sebastian watched as Angel stabbed a strip of bacon on his fork, stuffing it into his mouth without offering any to the skinny child. The hunter’s lip curled up, he could practically feel the bacon grease speckling the man’s face.

“You missed killing,” he said to Ciel, glancing out the corner of his eye to catch the way the heir followed Angel with his own glare.

Ciel shook his head, not taking his eye from their target.

“I just want this to be over,” the boy exhaled, his fingers curling in the dirt. “Knowing they’re alive out there, while my _entire_ family is dead and gone? It eats away at me, Bastian. I want them all to die.”

Sebastian hated the way his stomach sunk, how his body reacted to emotions that were not even his.

“I know, heiress.”

He sat up on his knees, carefully brushing the dirt from his rifle, and then from his shirt and his trousers. Standing, he offered his hand to the boy, who took it and stood gracefully beside him.

“I’m gon' go for the kid,” he told Ciel, slinging his rifle across his back. “Allow me to cover the kid’s eyes before you tear his throat out, you hear?”

Ciel rolled his eye, but Sebastian didn’t miss the way he puffed his chest out.

“You think I can handle Allison all by myself?”

“Sure I do. You’re the _Phantom Darling_. Ain’t no one even scared of me no more, heiress.”

Ciel rewarded him with a radiant smile, the edges laced with malice. His eye lit up with an old, familiar look, a blood-thirst the hunter had missed so much he parched for it. Soon Ciel would be splattered in blood, and the thought of that made Sebastian feel terribly nostalgic.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

It was all over in a flash.

Angel didn’t hear them until Ciel was standing right behind him. The man flinched, spun around and managed to get his pistol out by the time Ciel had pinned him. What the kid lacked in strength he made up for in savagery, jamming his knife into Angel’s shoulder and riding him to the ground like a fallen tree.

Angel's pistol fired, the bullet rippling into the dead night, spooking his tethered horse. Sebastian watched the stallion rear into the air, lethal hooves bucking in panic above the head of the bound girl. He dashed forward, throwing himself over the prisoner as one powerful kick missed her little skull and came down across his back.

The kick forced the air from his lungs, a grunt around grit teeth as he shielded the kid. Her head was no larger than a melon, small enough to cradle in his palm as the pain from the kick crept up his back. Looking down he saw the kid was Mexican, her eyes huge and black.

“Are you hurt?” He asked in Spanish.

She shook her head and he exhaled, on hands and knees above the captive. He looked at Ciel, who's knife was trained on Allison's throat, but his attention on Sebastian and the girl.

“Is she alright?”

Sebastian nodded, shifting his weight so he could sit up, pressing his gloved hand against the sharp bruise on his rib.

“Are _you_ alright?”

“Been worse,” Sebastian muttered.

He tugged the gag out of the girl's mouth and offered her a hand to get up. The little girl stared back, eyes glossy with tears, and remained in her defensive coil in the dirt. Sebastian groaned, ducking down to sling the girl over his shoulder like a lamb or some other livestock back on Agni’s farm.

“What you gon' do to him?” Sebastian asked when he came over to Angel.

Ciel had stood up, knife still in hand, but his boot pressed down over his captive’s throat. Angel's shoulder bled from the initial stab wound, animal sounds escaping his mouth as he wriggled in the dirt, but the hunter felt no sympathy.

A little frown appeared between Ciel’s brow, a flash of conflict on his pretty face. Sebastian could not imagine how it felt, to have the man that defiled his brother as his mercy, his life held in his hands. He had only felt that way once, the night he cut his father’s face – but the heir had already crossed six men from his list, with his seventh not far from joining them.

“What would have happened to her?” Ciel asked, looking to the girl slung over Sebastian’s back. “If he had sold her.”

Sebastian tightened his arms around the girl's legs, her ankles still bound with rope. He was grateful for her silence, content enough, or so deeply in shock, to just rest upon him. Sebastian never had much luck with human communication, especially children – too smart and too fearless for his liking. But the Mexican captive was quiet, very gentle and soft, like a nervous animal.

“If she was lucky?” Sebastian started, hoping the girl spoke no English. “Domestic slavery, cooking an' cleaning for some white family.”

Ciel’s cheeks coloured. “And if she wasn’t?”

Sebastian swallowed, shifting his hand to where the girl's head rest on the crook of his shoulder. He pressed his palm over his ear, inky hair pooling around his fingers.

“A different kind of slave,” he murmured, his stomach winding it’s way into a knot.

Ciel’s face tightened, a look of horror and sheer hatred taking over his dollish features. He readjusted his knife, glancing down at his captive in the sand.

“I’ll castrate him,” Ciel decided, removing the strip of leather than held his braid in place. “Then I’ll cut out his tongue, and perhaps his stomach too.”

He raised his boot off Angel’s throat, the man sputtering before his lip curled, his voice thick with anger and spit when he growled up at the heir.

“You _cursed_ , psychotic fuckin-”

Ciel stomped down on his neck again, cutting him off with a satisfying noise.

“Watch your mouth,” Ciel hissed. “There’s a lady present.”

Sebastian's mouth curled up. He liked it when Ciel got that way. Possessed, utterly terrifying, and still so eerily graceful.

“Whatever you do,” he told the heir, “make sure he don’t yell too much.”

He gestured to the child, still quiet and restful against his shoulder. Agni always said animals could sense calm humans, and he wondered if the little girl was the same way.

The child’s brown skin and tender demeanour was reflective of the way Sebastian himself had been at that age. The hunter kept his hand over her melon-sized head as if he could shield her from the traumatic night, and in turn somehow reverse what had happened in his own childhood.

Ciel cast a look over them both, his chest swelling, jaw locking, as if the sight only added more fuel to his fire.

“I best start with his tongue,” he declared, and then lowered himself over Allison.

Sebastian pressed his hand harder over the kid's head, her ears trapped between his palm and his beating chest. Angel began to scream but the kid was blind to the horrific sight – as all children should be.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

It was hot and balmy on the day Sebastian rode into Heaven.

Despite the humid June breeze the town still clung to it's elegance like the sweat clung to the back of Sebastian’s neck. Abundant blossoms curled around each open window, laced every white, wooden fence. The harsh sun had not deterred the residents, the women fanning at their faces with lace fans, their husbands with rolled up newspaper.

If it were up to Sebastian he would not step foot in Heaven again, especially after the last time. Sebastian felt highly uncomfortable, like a speck of dirt against the tidy street. He would have happily avoided Heaven for the rest of his life, if not for the small captive confiding to him that this was the very town she was stolen from.

The girl didn’t speak much, she didn’t eat. Sebastian cut her peach slices and she sucked on them for an hour at a time. She was small and barely a burden, a warm weight behind his back, brown hands curled into his waistcoat.

At first Ciel had been interested in talking to her, even learning a few thickly-accented words in Spanish, but the kid's eerily quietness eventually turned him off it. It became quickly apparent that Ciel was just as shy and as inept in handling a child as Sebastian was, and they were both eager to find her home and offload the babe to someone else.

Sebastian didn’t miss the way Ciel’s eye lingered on Delacroix's Emporium as they rode into the main street of Heaven. Sebastian snorted, nudging Diablo so he rode faster from the double-story brothel – until a cry stopped him in his tracks.

Sebastian whipped around to see a woman running down the stairs of the emporium, her baby blue skirts hitched around her knees as she trot so fast a cloud of dust kicked up behind her. Her long, black hair fell free of it's elaborate do, powdered face streaked with tears as she raced towards the two men and their little companion.

“Adelita!” The woman sobbed, chest heaving.

There was no denying the woman was the child's mother. She had the same black eyes, the same longing look as they took sight of one another. Little hands clenched in Sebastian's shirt.

“Mamá!” The little girl, or Adelita, called back.

The street fell into silence. Sebastian looked up to see the residents of Heaven had paused, gathered in clusters, still fanning at their faces, to watch the woman in blue sob at the ankles of the intimidating black horse and it’s rider.

Dozens of eyes prickled Sebastian’s skin as he dismounted Diablo, then carefully plucked the child from his back. The horse snuffled her hair, a farewell kiss, as he handed the wriggling babe off to her mamá. The woman exhaled, arms winding around her little body, and a loud and joyous cry came from her chest.

“Gracias,” she sobbed. “Gracias!”

The woman buried her face into her daughter’s shiny hair, tears running down her cheeks. The people who had watched in silence suddenly staggered into applause, a noise so unfamiliar the hunter immediately blushed. He froze in place, clutching Diablo’s reins as the mother cradled her beloved child.

Then Ciel’s hand was on his arm, his face upturned to gift him with a proud smile. He looked at Sebastian like he had hung the stars and moon for him. The heir squeezed the muscle of his arm, his pretty teeth all on display, just for him.

“Ciel!”

The crowd parted for a man, his shirt as white and crisp as the establishment he stepped out of. Bard Delacroix's blonde hair was slicked back off his face, sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms. Suddenly Sebastian’s face felt hot from anger and no longer embarrassment. Ciel dropped his hand away from Sebastian’s arm.

“You returned Loretta’s daughter,” Bard exclaimed, his voice breathy with disbelief.

He took the child’s face in his hands, turning her into the light to examine her tear-streaked face. He laughed, shaking his head like the sight was too good to be true. Sebastian sneered, his fist already clenched by his side.

“Why, my Loretta has been absolutely devastated since Adelita was stolen away,” Bard explained. “She’s been so melancholy she has not been able to work. I suppose I owe you a favour!”

“Actually,” Ciel replied, his smile just as pleasant as his tone, “You owe it to Sebastian. This man’s a bona fide hero – he threw himself beneath a horse just to save that girl's life.”

Sebastian darkened as the audience burst into applause once again, some woman covering their mouths to mask their astonished gasps. Even the gentleman murmured, and Loretta’s eyes filled with a thankfulness that made Sebastian wish he could sink right into the dirt and disappear.

Bard finally addressed the hunter, his gaze reluctant as it settled on the man. His jaw squared to conceal thinly veiled contempt, eyes flicking down to take in his dust-stained clothes.

“Is that so?” Bard drawled, straightening the tie of his own impeccable suit.

Sebastian glared back at him, tongue in his cheek so he wouldn’t curl his lip and snarl in front of their audience.

“Yes sir.”

“Then I suppose I could offer you a drink, at the very least.”

Sebastian huffed, looking down at Ciel – but the boy only raised his eyebrow in warning, face just as tense as the two taller men.

“Why, that sounds lovely mister Delacroix,” the boy drawled, not taking his eye off the hunter. “Don’t it, Bastian?”

Another wave of heat burned Sebastian’s ears at the use of such a name in front of so many people. He cleared his throat, shot Bard another seething glare, and shifted closer to Ciel.

“Yes,” he forced himself to say. “ _Lovely_.”

……………………………………………………………………………

 

As Sebastian stepped into the cool emporium, he noticed a large, crystal chandelier above his head.

The little gems twisted in the breeze, casting a thousand glimmering shadows across the floor. As Sebastian stared at the handsome sight, Bard brushed right past him so quick the scent of his sharp cologne caught in Sebastian’s nose and made him screw up his face.

“Do you like that?” Bard asked, wearing Ciel on his arm like a prize. “I had it installed last night. Gives the place a certain, hm, _je ne sais quoi_.”

Sebastian didn’t recognise the nasally language, but Ciel perked up at the words – his eye bright just like the luminous chandelier.

“Oh,” he breathed. “ _Parlez-vous français, monsieur Delacroix?_ ”

Bard grinned, looking like the blonde devil, his teeth exposed like a predatory animal. Sebastian narrowed his eyes at him, curling his lip when Bard raised Ciel’s hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it.

“ _Oui, bien sûr, ma colombe._ ”

Ciel made a noise, somewhat delighted, his cheeks dusted with a complimenting pink. The colour bled darker when Bard turned his hand and kissed the inside of his wrist as well. Sebastian looked away, feeling just as dirty and uncomfortable as he looked inside the beautiful emporium.

“Now how about that drink?” Bard purred, still mooning over the heir.

The heir retracted his fingers with an elegance the blonde did not deserve. He looked at Sebastian, flicked his eye up to his hat, which the hunter promptly removed. His gaze softened, but when he turned back to Bard his voice was less than so.

“I think you can do better than a drink,” Ciel told him. “Sebastian saved Loretta’s child. Surely a life is worth more than that?”

Ciel glanced at the staircase, where Loretta had gathered alongside a flock of beautiful women. She had tidied up some, midnight hair combed back into a elegant bun, black eyes still shining with gratitude.

Bard stared too, his shoulders stiff, and if Sebastian could take any consolation from the awkward situation, it was that the blonde looked just as uncomfortable as the hunter felt.

“Indeed,” Bard coughed. “I suppose I could offer you a whore,” he added, quietly. “As long as you can agree to behave yourself.”

Ciel raised his eyebrow again, staring pointedly at Sebastian. The hunter glanced at the women again, his fist squeezed so hard his thumb cracked in the clench of his hand.

“I can behave,” Sebastian forced himself to say.

Ciel touched Bard’s arm with a familiarity that hurt Sebastian. The hunter didn’t want a drink, or a whore. He wanted to pick the heir up and throw him over his shoulder, and march right out of the emporium and back into the wilderness again.

“Take your pick,” Bard prompted. “Anyone of them.”

Ciel stared at Sebastian, still clutching the blonde's arm, and the heir swallowed. He gave the hunter a look, one the man could not decipher. His pink mouth was pressed into a thin line, his posture stiff. He glanced at Bard’s whores and then back at Sebastian, and something strange possessed his face.

Sebastian revisited the idea of kidnapping Ciel, and wondered if the heir would kick and scream – or if he'd come willingly, just as desperate to escape the emporium, to ride off with Sebastian and not look back.

But then Bard ducked down and whispered something against the shell of Ciel’s ear, and the heir broke eye contact when his lashes fluttered shut. He made a noise, so soft and so pretty that it put the whores gathered at the staircase to shame.

Sebastian watched as the whispers became a kiss, Bard’s mouth pressing to Ciel’s soft cheek. The blonde glanced up, blue eyes burning into Sebastian’s, mouth curved up in hateful victory as he placed another on the corner of Ciel’s lips.

Sebastian's stomach sank. He rubbed the nape of his neck, a prickle of sweat dripping down his back. He felt foolish, hot all over with embarrassment at his own thoughts. How could he expect Ciel to want to leave this place? It was everything the heir was – clean, and expensive, and beautiful.

Everything Sebastian wasn’t, too.

Reluctantly, he turned to the whores. They were all very lovely, the finest whores he'd ever seen. Sebastian looked first at Loretta, her eyes still laced with tears, and when they made contact she ran down the stairs and practically threw herself against his chest.

“Please,” she begged in Spanish. “Let me show you how grateful I am to you.”

She smelt good, looked even better. Her hands were small, like her waist, Sebastian’s hand steadied on her corset to keep them both from stumbling. But each time he looked into her coal-black eyes he could only see Adelita, and it spooked him into pushing her away with an apologetic mumble.

When he looked up again he caught sight of another woman, and one that he recognised too.

Minnie was a straight-faced, dark-skinned, flat-chested type of whore.

Her green dress exposed her brown shoulders, a pretty pendant around her throat. She wore her thick, frizzy hair up on her head, and she stared at Sebastian like he were as interesting as a dead bug.

He didn’t know much about Minnie, but he knew one direly important fact about her. She was Bard’s favourite whore, his prized possession.

He walked towards her, the other woman parting like a sea of pastel, lacy dresses, and offered Minnie his hand. The whore, who stood on the second stair, was still shorter than the hunter.

Looking over his shoulder at the blonde, Sebastian was privately delighted to see how Bard’s smug expression had fallen, and his jaw had squared so tight it made his tendon flinch.

“I’ll have this whore,” he announced, tugging her forward so she stumbled off the stairs and bumped into his chest.

Minnie glared up at him, pressing her full lips into a displeased line. It matched the look on Bard’s face too, one that tugged Sebastian’s heart out of the bottom of his stomach and threatened to have him smirk.

“That’s fine,” Bard muttered, his voice thick with contempt.

Sebastian let the small prostitute lead him back up the stairs, her green skirts swishing over floorboards, her springy hair bobbing along the nape of her neck. Her hand was so small in his, crocheted white glove snuggled in his black leather palm. Sebastian snorted at the sight, glancing down the elegant staircase before Minnie drew him into her bedroom.

The last thing Sebastian saw was Ciel’s face. The heir looked just as hurt as Bard, and as Minnie. He looked as displeased as Sebastian felt, and the hunter couldn’t comprehend why all four of them were so unhappy.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian watched as Minnie's dress slipped to the ground.

The green fabric billowed around her ankles. She stood straight, unashamed of her little chest or her soft stomach. She was very beautiful, eyes lighter than her skin, but Sebastian was only mildly interested.

He'd never understood it, man’s obsession with woman.

It was all he ever had to listen to. When he travelled, when he drank. The fixation of the perfect whore, the perfect wife. How men drank themselves stupid over a woman they had only _glanced_ at. How they were perfectly content to fight over women, and to kill over women.

To kill themselves, sometimes too.

Sebastian wondered if it was because the only woman he had ever known was dead – or if it was because his only two friends were married to each other. Or perhaps he hadn’t met the right one, a woman so poignantly beautiful that he too would want to kill for her, to die for her.

He flicked his eyes down to Minnie's hips, where a wooden prosthetic was fixed in place of her left leg.

“Great,” he mumbled. “I got Delacroix’s botched whore.”

Minnie curled her lip, flicking a strand of curly hair off one shoulder. Her narrow eyes addressed his own form, her chin raised when she craned her head to take in his entire height.

“I ain’t never slept with no Mexican before,” she drawled. “You been checked for lice?”

The second Sebastian heard her speak, he knew he'd made a horrible mistake. Minnie had a thick, Southern accent – not dissimilar to Ciel’s.

“Shouldn’t I be asking _you_ that?”

Minnie put her hands on his chest and walked him backwards until his knees hit the bed. He sat down, the mattress creaking. Even seated Minnie was so small they were almost eye level.

“I think you’ll find I’m very hygienic,” she said, that familiar voice that sounded half bored, and half posh. “It's called a bath, you should try it sometime.”

She tried to push Sebastian flat on his back but his body tensed, pushing her hands away from his chest.

“I don’t fuck on my back,” he told her.

Her eyes narrowed, her hands going to the wide thick of her hips.

“And I don’t fuck on mine,” she told him.

Sebastian blinked in surprise. In all his twenty-five years a whore had never spoken back to him before. He stood up, staring down at the little woman, who puffed her chest out like a small bird.

“Fine,” he told her.

He didn’t want to see her face when he fucked her anyway. He _never_ wanted to see their faces. Sex to him felt like a chore, one that was only complicated when two eyes stared at him throughout the act.

“Fine,” Minnie mimicked, in a dumb, deep voice.

She reached for his belt and tugged it loose, then pressed her small, warm hand inside his trousers. Sebastian blew hot air out his nose, staring at the wall behind the prostitute's head.

“What’s the matter with you?” She complained. “You broken?”

She squeezed his uninterested cock again, like hugging it might spur it to take action. Sebastian only locked his jaw, closed his eyes and willed his lower half to cooperate.

“I ain’t like whores who can't shut up,” he muttered.

Minnie withdrew her hand and curled her lip at him, her eyebrow raised as she made him feel half his size.

“I ain't like men who can’t get it up.”

Her arrogant tone made Sebastian flinch, and he easily took hold of her thicket of frizzy hair. Minnie snorted like a bull, tripping over her own heels as he spun her around and shoved her on the mattress. When she tried to get up he pushed her down again, grabbing her by the back of her prosthetic strap and yanking her onto hands and knees.

She shrieked in surprise but didn’t struggle. She settled into her position, dipping her spine to show off the green lace underwear that cut into the flesh of her ass. The polished wood of her leg reflected sunshine through the fluttering curtains.

“Come on then,” Minnie drawled, her voice thick with annoyance. “I ain’t got all day.”

The hunter's dick gave a twitch at her Southern accent, her bossy attitude feeling all too familiar to him. He got up on the mattress behind the whore, took a handful of her ass in one hand and squeezed the rudeness right out of her tone.

“You’re an animal,” she hissed, placing one hand against the brass bed frame.

Sebastian closed his eyes to listen to her speak. He squeezed her ass again, so hard the muscle in his arm twitched and Minnie swore under her breath. The little sigh made the hunter hard, stiff enough to shove his trousers down his legs and crawl forward until he was blanketing the woman.

Curling his fingers into her hips, Sebastian slipped his dick between her thighs and pressed his mouth against the shell of her ear.

“You wanna make fun of my cock now?” He muttered, tugging down her underwear until the fabric ripped.

He put his free hand on the frame right by her hand, then closed his eyes and wriggled closer until his cock kissed something hot and warm. He sighed, his fist clenching around the brass rod, the body under him deflating to curl closer, linen shifting as knees parted on the spread.

Minnie whimpered, but didn’t answer him.

“That’s right,” Sebastian spat, his mouth against her neck. “Not so mouthy when I get my cock in you.”

He undulated his hips and rocked into her, earning himself a breathy sigh. The whore’s breath caught, her head falling back to expose the column of her throat. Sebastian groaned into the flesh and fucked back into her again.

“Oh?” Minnie breathed, and when Sebastian opened his eyes he could see how hard she breathed. “I thought that was your finger.”

The hunter bristled, his hand leaving Minnie's hip to grab her by the throat. She was small enough to cover with his palm, his fingers clenching until the self-satisfied smirk she wore melted off. He thrust into her, so rough the bed creaked and the brass frame smacked against the plastered wall.

“What was that?” He growled.

His chest tightened and his muscles shook as he squeezed her neck, drew her back onto his cock, over and over, punching breaths right from her mouth.

“Fuck,” he swore, pleasure mounting in his gut. “That’s what I thought.”

He'd always been mouthy in bed, unable to control the words he said when his dick was buried in something slick and hot. That’s why he drank himself to silence before he even _glanced_ at a whore.

But as he fucked Minnie, so rough the bed took flakes off the plaster wall, he was stone cold sober. The wall shook, but he only took her harder – hoping the violent sound shook down below the floorboards, and reached Bard Delacroix, and the heir.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel was not downstairs.

Bard’s private parlor, a room on the second floor, was just as opulent and handsome as the man who owned it. On one side of the room was a wide bed and a silk couch. On the other wall was a gigantic gold-framed mirror, which to Ciel’s dismay displayed his entire body.

Behind him he could see the muscles in Bard’s back shift as he fixed them both a drink. Ciel’s attention flickered back and forth towards himself, his reflection trembling as a violent _smack_ shook the walls of the brothel.

The boy tucked back his hair to examine his face. His bruises were almost gone, nothing but a faint scar along his lower lip to match the colour of the one that divided his cheek. He turned so that side of his face wasn’t visible and he examined the rest of his body.

His hips were disappointingly narrow, his chest flat, his shoulders broad. His legs, long and coltish, held no shape to them, and although his mouth was a bitten berry colour, he couldn’t hold a candle to even the plainest of Bard’s whores.

The repetitive, filthy _thud, thud, thud_ against the wall was proof of that.

When Bard handed him a mint julep he looked just as put off by the sound as Ciel felt. His jaw remained locked, his eyes narrowed as he forced himself to smile.

“Men,” he scoffed, shrugging as if the jealously on his face wasn’t blatantly obvious.

Ciel took a sip of alcohol, still frowning at his boyish reflection.

“What’s the matter, dove?”

Ciel took another sip, a longer one, and let the liquor seep into his tongue before he answered.

“Do you think I’m attractive?” He asked the blonde.

Bard paused, glass halfway to his mouth. His blue eyes turned to the mirror, flicking down the heir’s frame as he took in every inch of the boy's body.

“Ciel,” he started, voice pitched lower than usual. “You’re a great deal _more_ than attractive. You’re obviously very intelligent, and-”

Ciel cut him off by raising his hand, his fingers shaking with nerves.

“I mean…” He closed his eye and swallowed, “ _sexually_ attractive? Would you have sex with me?”

Bard went stiff. Ciel’s heart beat so loud he could no longer hear the garish smacks against the wall. The blonde put down his drink and sighed, as if trying to compose himself.

“You make it very difficult to remain a gentleman around you,” Bard replied, slowly, his voice rough with wavering control.

Ciel took a deep swallow of his drink, tipping the glass back until it was empty. The taste burnt his throat, made his knees feel weak and his cheeks florid.

“You don’t have to do that,” he told Bard, mouth sticky with mint julep. “You don’t have to be a gentleman. I don’t need to be treated gently.”

Something in the blonde broke, his bright blue eyes darkened. He shifted closer to the heir, his large hands going either side of his hips.

“Is that so?”

He leaned in until his mouth brushed over Ciel’s, his hands tightening to force a little sigh out of his mouth. He coaxed the heir forward until their chests touched, Ciel’s heard pounding like a bird trapped in a cage.

With his lashes flush to his cheek it was all too easy for Ciel to imagine it was Sebastian’s body he was pressed against. Bard wasn't as broad as Sebastian, his chest not as full, and the clench of fingers on his hips seemed refined, not brutal like he knew the hunter would be.

Bard smelt like expensive cologne, he smelt like Ciel’s father, and when his cheek brushed against the heir's there was no stubble, no trace of leather or horse against his flesh. But still, Ciel fancied it were Sebastian, and he moaned when the blonde placed a kiss upon his mouth.

Bard nudged Ciel’s head back and filled his mouth with his tongue, one hand on the small of his back, the other curling into the back of his hair, holding him in place to kiss, to consume. But still, it was too gentle.

The heir sighed, buried fingers in neat, blonde hair and _tugged_ , dropping his jaw to turn the kiss filthy, heat already pooling in his gut. He swallowed Bard’s groan, the sound going to his navel as the controlled hands on his narrow hips turned feral, curling into his skin like a beast, and the heir closed his eyes and shuddered from his tailbone to his neck.

The sound of Minnie and Sebastian turned to static as Bard devoured his excited moans, cupped his head just like he loved him, and crushed him to the wall with a ferocity that shoved the bounty hunter to the back of Ciel’s clouded mind.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

“Do you like that?”

Minnie whined, a high-pitched and breathy sound Sebastian felt against his stomach. He buried his hips into her, rolled them in a slow and dirty circle until her fingers grabbed the back of his hand and clenched.

“Yeah,” she sobbed, eyes closed and mouth open as she panted. “Yeah, I like that.”

Sebastian’s animal brain thrilled in triumph, unable to shut his mouth as he ground into Minnie, his own skin prickled with sweat in the balmy bedroom. He tugged the whore’s hair, feeling her seize around him and he groaned.

“Does it feel good when I fuck you?”

He'd never been so hard in all his life. He'd never fucked like this, possessed and uncontrollable, his teeth skimming the back of Minnie's neck, the blood gone from his mind, stiff and pooling in his groin.

“It feels good,” she sobbed.

Sebastian didn’t care if she was lying. If he was paying for Minnie on Bard’s dime, he intended to get his money’s worth. He curled his fist around his hair and yanked her up, his nose buried to the rose-like scent of her fragrant perfume.

“Fuck,” he grunted as she shuddered around him. “ _Fuck_.”

He bit into her neck, so rough that she jolted, only thrilling the primitive half of Sebastian’s sex-laced mind. He couldn’t stop himself. He didn’t want to. The way Minnie sounded, half in ecstasy and half in pain, spurred something deep and nasty in his chest, pushing her petite frame flatter to the mattress.

“Tell me you want my cock.”

“I want your cock.”

“Tell me you want _me_.”

“I w-want you.”

Sebastian sighed, his nose pressed to her throat, breathing in her smell and her wounded moans, her heavy accent falling so prettily off her tongue that it only made him harder, made him pound into the whore so good her eyes fluttered shut.

The hunter’s hips stuttered, his muscles bunched as he hitched her closer, tongue rolling against the sweat that beaded on her nape. The taste made him heady, made his stomach clench and a pressure build below his navel. He'd never felt like this before, never felt like sex was something transcendent, and as he tightened his arm around the whore's small, small waist he realised _yes_ – he would kill to have this again, he would gladly risk his life just to feel so hot and languid, to have his cock buried deep in someone so small, with a thick Southern accent, and –

“Tell me that you love me,” he demanded, eyes squeezed shut.

He couldn’t stop the words from leaving his mouth. They slipped out past his teeth, fell against the tepid skin of Minnie's neck.

“I love you,” she breathed back at him, that high and sticky accent, so beautiful the hunter's heart skipped a beat.

His breath hitched, a hook beneath his navel as his body seized, his brow pressed to the whore’s back and his arm constricting around her waist as he began to cum.

“Fuck, _heiress_.”

He buried his teeth into Minnie's shoulder and clamped down, riding out the violent shudders of his orgasm, his groans trapped inside his chest. Everything went black, his hand clenching around the brass bed frame, his bicep flinching, the muscles in his stomach undulating as he flirted with unconsciousness, panting into thick, black hair as he withdrew his teeth from spit-damp flesh.

When he raised himself up to look at Minnie, blinking the black out of his eyes, the whore looked over her shoulder and fixed him with a knowing glare.

“Heiress?” She repeated.

Suddenly the hunter’s stomach clenched in a less than pleasurable way, and a cold sweat prickled over his entire body. He shifted back, sitting up on his knees as Minnie hissed and laid down on her back. Sebastian stared at the cracked and abused wall, the crumbled plaster, and clenched his jaw to swallow back the panic that boiled in his gut.

His heart, which had hammered like a rabbit's only moments before, his slowed to a nauseating thud in the bottom of his chest.

He scrambled off the bed, the mattress creaking, and yanked his trousers up, hastily fastening them with shaking hands. Minnie's stillness spooked him, still recumbent on her back, one arm casually behind her crooked hair, the promise of a smile ghosting the corner of her full and handsome mouth.

“If you so much as breathe a word of this to _anyone_ ,” he warned her, voice so low that it came out in a hiss, “I’ll throw you into a mirror like the last whore I fucked here.”

Minnie, to his frustration, hitched one shoulder, shrugging as if the situation was not that interesting to her after all. Like she didn’t care, as if the messy bed she lay against had seen much, much worse in all her years a whore.

But to Sebastian it felt like white hot mortification, a hand inside his stomach tugging all his guts into a tight and infallible knot.

It felt like horror, like the sluggish, disgusting inkling of truth behind why Sebastian had never been obsessed with women.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

A little sound made Sebastian pause at the top of the grand staircase.

It sounded like a whimper, an animal noise that echoed down the hall, lost between the fall of piano keys and the flutter of sheer curtains.

Sebastian stood and listened to it, his hand on the banister, his tongue still tasting of Minnie's flesh. His hair was mussed, untied and sticking to his neck, and his belt was done up too tight, doing no favors for his churning stomach.

The sound came again, so sweet and beckoning, and Sebastian turned towards it, already knowing who it came from. He tread, as quickly as he could, to the door all the way at the end of the hall – only to find it open a jar. With a light press of his fingers it opened an inch wider, enough for the hunter to catch a glimpse of the room inside.

It was nicer than Minnie's room, bigger too. Sunshine streamed in the windows, glinted off gold-plated finery and crystal glasses. That sound came again, so dulcet and high-pitched, and when Sebastian leaned in a fraction closer he saw the most beautiful of all the possessions inside Bard’s private parlor.

Bard kept the heir pinned to the wall, his hips grinding slow and filthy circles against the boy's own. Ciel shuddered, face pink and eye screwed shut, his mouth kiss swollen and wet, his hair stuck to the side of his cheek. He whimpered when Bard nipped his throat, curled his spine out off the wall when the blonde grabbed a handful of his ass and curled his fingers in until he sobbed.

“My word,” Bard whispered, running his tongue along the flat of Ciel’s fine throat. “Ain’t you as noisy as you are sweet.”

The heir bit down on his lip, his fingers clenching in the blonde's short hair. He looked dazed, unable to answer, only grunting when the man leaned in and kissed his mouth, his tongue plunging past his lips in a crude imitation of what Sebastian had just done to Minnie.

He broke off with a _smack_ , Ciel’s eye glassy, his blinks in slow-motion as Bard stared down at him, eyes a predatory black.

“You sucked cock before, sugar?”

Bard ducked down to mutter it against Ciel’s ear, but the hallway was so quiet Sebastian heard it effortlessly. The words made him feel sick, his tongue pressing to his cheek to stop himself from ripping the door right off it’s hinges, and the blonde right from his master.

Ciel shook his head, and when he opened his eye Sebastian could see how wide his pupil was. Paired with his thick eyelashes, his doll-like nose and pretty lips, the hunter couldn’t help the bile that tickled the back of his throat, the sight of something so naïve offered up freely to the most conniving man Sebastian had ever met.

The blonde took Ciel’s small hand and pressed it to the front of his trousers, molding his hand over the shape of his stiff cock. Sebastian's nostrils flared, his heart sinking to his stomach when Ciel released an excited breath, his hand squeezing the hard flesh, his face the image of desire.

And despite Sebastian’s aching chest, his own dick twitched as the heir hugged greedily at the length.

The heir seemed rapturous, his lips sealed to Bard’s as if he needed his kisses to breathe. The display made Sebastian ache in a way he'd never felt before, a depth revealed when his heart sunk deeper than he knee was possible.

Ciel’s feverish kisses, the way he looped his arms around the blondes neck like he might die unless they were pressed together, lips to hearts to hips, devastated Sebastian.

The hunter exhaled, and Bard groaned, grasping Ciel by his bird-like wrist and whipped him around, the heir’s back turned to Sebastian. The blonde pressed another kiss onto his mouth, and the noise the heir made as he writhed against his mouth was both music and melancholy to his ears.

The boy didn’t struggle when Bard Delacroix yanked down the back of his trousers, his belt sitting under the plush curve of his ass. The kid trembled, his milk-white skin so round and smooth, each cheek hugged in black lace. Bard smacked the flesh, his fingers curling into naked flesh like he _owned_ it. Sebastian growled, his hand so tight against the doorframe that splintered.

When he glanced up, Bard was staring back at him.

The blonde kissed Ciel again, spreading his ass with rough fingers, his tongue between the heir’s teeth as he stared. Sebastian’s stomach lurched, a lump forming in his throat when Bard broke away with a _smack_ , his lips curling up in triumph.

“You wanna suck my cock, sugar?”

Sebastian held his breath to hear Ciel whimper _yes_.

In disbelief he watched the heir go to his knees, dragged in place by the thick hand buried in his hair. The hunter half expected the boy to fight him. Ciel Phantomhive kneeled for _no one_.

But both his knees hit the floor with a _thud_ , his hair still held like a leash. Sebastian could see him tremble, his fingers shaking where they held to Bard’s thighs, his cheek resting on his knee like he were no longer an heir to millions, but a dog.

Bard glanced up at the crack in the door.

“Are you my whore?” He asked the heir.

The boy whined, the sound stabbing right through Sebastian's heart. His needy cry made the muscle in Bard’s arm bunch, made him tug at the boy's hair until his neck was craned back and Sebastian could see his upturned nose, his fluttering eyelashes like moth wings.

“Tell me, dove. Are you my whore?”

Then, to Sebastian’s unrivalled horror, he leaned right over Ciel and spat on his face. For a long time Ciel was silent, the only noise from him the ragged breaths he drew in from red lips. When he spoke his voice was torn, so rough and raw that Sebastian scarce recognized the sound.

“Yes,” Ciel said, honey-sweet. “I’m your whore.”

Sebastian’s chest filled with something thick and unfamiliar, his throat so tight he couldn’t yell even if he wanted to. His stomach fell, his heart sinking too, his eyes wide and jaw clenched as he finally took a step away from the door, losing sight of the young man, and the blonde he hated more than anything.

Murmured voices echoed through the wall, the shift of fabric and another moan from open lips. The hallway seemed too small, the roof too low to Sebastian’s head, the floor rising up to crush him where he stood, his heart pounding as it floundered in his stomach.

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. He turned heel and ran right down the staircase, his footsteps thundering through the tenderly silent bar, his approach startling the languid whores like dust motes from the floorboards.

Up above him the chandelier shimmered, each of it's crystals fine and glamorous as they smattered the wicker chairs and thick, white blossoms. Sebastian turned his eyes up to the light, Ciel’s hungry sigh still playing over and over in the back of his head like a phonograph.

Pausing on the last stair, Sebastian drew his pistol and aimed it at the cord that hung the chandelier above the bar. He squeezed the trigger, the violent _pop_ tearing through the lavish room, the whores scattering and screaming in fright.

The chandelier groaned, and then it fell, crashing to the floor in an explosion of shattered crystal, moaning iron as it twisted and distorted on crunching, broken wood. Flecks landed on the hunter’s boots, rolled under tables and flew out the door.

Sebastian stared at the corpse of the chandelier until he heard a door fly open, boots run across the landing, and a startled cry come from upstairs.

The hunter looked up at the blonde, his hair out of place, his trousers still fastened. His cheeks were florid, eyes wide as he took in the remains of his expensive chandelier, the muscles in his arms bunched as he trembled, in anger and in shock.

The corner of Sebastian’s mouth curled up. With his smoking pistol still in one hand, he used his other to take his hat from the stand by the door, then tipped it over his face in a courteous nod.

Then he stepped over the broken crystal, shards cracking and popping under his boot, and walked right out the door of Bard’s Emporium.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian was halfway through a bottle of dirt cheap whiskey by the time Ciel came storming out of the emporium.

The boy's hair was still messy, pulled up into a ponytail which swished side to side as he hurried down the stairs and into the street. He looked around until he saw the hunter sitting on the patio of the ramshackle bodega, pointed his finger at him, and marched towards the saloon with a fury that made several patrons at the table behind Sebastian murmur in interest.

“Why the _fuck_ did you do that?” The boy screamed, standing in the dirt, refusing to take a step onto the bodega's porch.

It was rare to see the boy so unkempt, his cheeks ruddy and the lace of one boot undone. It was even rarer to hear him curse. Sebastian might have snickered, if the situation had been different.

Instead he finished his drink, stood up and pushed his chair back. He trot down the crooked stairs of the bodega and brushed right past Ciel, so hard their shoulders collided and the kid stumbled back with a grunt.

Ciel followed after him, hot on his heels, and when the hunter turned into the narrow alleyway between the bodega and the blacksmith’s, he spun around and shoved the boy against the wall so rough it knocked the wind from him.

“Thought you said you were a virgin,” Sebastian growled, keeping Ciel pinned so tight he had to stand on the tips of his shoes.

“I am,” Ciel hissed in reply. “Not that it’s any of your damned business!”

The kid had sweat on his brow, and his lips were pink and swollen from hard kisses. He was panting in anger, but all Sebastian could hear were the desperate, wounded noises the blonde bartender had punched out of the kid.

“You wanna lose your virginity to _Bard Delacroix_?” Sebastian scoffed, spitting on the word as if it tasted like dirt.

He watched as Ciel’s eye widened, his mouth opened, and that pissed off little frown only worsened between his brow.

“You were watching me?” He hissed, thrashing against Sebastian's iron grip. “You misbegotten, _perverted_ bastard!” He shrieked. “How much did you see?!”

Sebastian curled his lip, his fingers squeezing Ciel’s arms so tight the kid whined. He shoved the heir, then leaned down nice and close to force out the next three words.

“ _I’m your whore_ ,” he muttered.

Ciel went so still it felt like time stopped. He kept his chin raised, ever impetuous, but could not look Sebastian in the eye as he mumbled his flustered, angry retort.

“I’m an adult,” he said, his face a brighter red than Sebastian had ever seen it. “If I want to sleep with someone I should be able to without my employee costing me a thousand dollars in repair.”

He blinked furiously, as if it might dispel the colour in his cheeks, so embarrassed tears collected in the corner of his eye.

“I’m taking that from your inheritance,” Ciel added.

“Good. Men like him? Ain’t no good for you, heiress. You’ll get a disease.”

Ciel pressed his lips together and finally glared up at the looming man.

“How was Minnie?” Ciel muttered.

A lock of hair fell from his ponytail and landed between his eyes, fluttered by his staggered breathing. The heir didn’t blink, just stared in quiet contempt as the hunter slowly released the bruising grip he had on both his arms.

“I stopped you from doing something you were gon' regret,” Sebastian said, stepping back to let the boy slide down to the flat of his boots.

The heir only laughed, loud and angry.

“I _wanted_ to do it!”

It made Sebastian laugh too, twice as loud, twice as angry.

“You wanted to suck Delacroix’s cock?”

Ciel mottled pink again, his blush going all the way down his throat and even lower. Sebastian couldn’t look away from his bruised lips, how full and damp they looked, how thankfully virginal they remained.

“Yes!” Ciel barked. “I wanted him to suck mine too!” He walked forward and shoved Sebastian. “I don’t want gentle or romantic, Sebastian. I’m almost nineteen and I’m a _virgin_.”

Sebastian forced himself to look away from his red mouth, glaring at the mouth of the alleyway in place of it.

“Don’t worry heiress, you’ve got your whole life to suck cock.”

Ciel shoved him again.

“And what if I don’t?” He yelled, voice hitching.

He pushed Sebastian again, and then again, until his anger bled out into hysterics, and he looked on the verge of crying.

“What if that was the last chance I had?” Ciel sobbed, looking just as beautiful as he did terrifying.

He shoved Sebastian one last time, the final straw for the hunter, who used all his might to shove Ciel back in the opposite direction. The kid staggered back and smacked the wood, his head making a loud noise as it hit the wall. The kid stared down at his boots, wavering on long legs, for so long and so silently that Sebastian perked up in fear.

 _Fuck_ , he thought. _I’ve hurt him_.

He reached Ciel in two strides, cupping the side of his face to draw his eye to him. But the heir shook out of his grip, staring at something under his boot, fluttering in the dry, afternoon air.

“It's him,” Ciel said softly. “It’s the maggot.”

The kid ducked down and took the paper from the sand. The wanted poster was new, no tears or colour to the paper beside the specks of dirt. Sebastian grit his teeth at the crude sketch of his father, clenched between Ciel’s fists.

“Addison DuBois,” Ciel read aloud.

Sebastian had never heard his daddy’s name said so prettily before. The colour drained from his face. He didn’t blink, staring at the drawing until his vision blurred and all he could see were smeared, black lines.

“You sure that’s him?” He heard himself ask.

Ciel nodded. The boy drew in a deep breath but it shook. He blinked furiously, torn between staring at the poster, and wanting to look at the blank wall over Sebastian’s shoulder.

“I don’t feel so good,” he said between his teeth.

Sebastian caught him as he slumped, the boy's eye fluttering back a moment before he sunk against Sebastian’s chest. The hunter’s hand went to the back of his head, his nose pressed to his hair where he still smelt like Bard.

“Go back to the horses,” Sebastian said into the gossamer strands. “Get the saddles ready. I’ll talk to the sheriff and find out where he was last seen.”

Ciel shook his head, waking up enough to push the hunter away.

“No.”

“Heiress, go back to the fucking horses.”

“ _Why?_ ”

“Because you’ve still got spit all over your fucking face!”

It was a blatant lie, but one that made Ciel go still, his cheeks brilliant with colour again. If Sebastian didn’t despise him so much in that moment he might have admitted it was charming. But his blood boiled, his chest tight like his father might ride right into town any second - and Ciel still smelt like cologne more expensive than everything Sebastian owned.

The heir wiped his florid cheek with his cheek, so embarrassed he deflated immediately, looking towards the horses with his chin raised, but his eye lowered.

“Go back to the horses,” Sebastian said a third time, and he forced himself to speak gently, although his heart and chest told him to _scream_.

Ciel swallowed, his throat dipping against his silver cross, and then he nodded. Casting one last look towards the sheriff’s station, the boy exhaled and then walked off, still wiping at his face as he left.

Sebastian watched until he was out of sight, then released a shaking breath. The day he had waited an eternity for finally came, and the sun that was setting along the horizon might be the last his daddy saw.

Or the last he saw.

Or, the last Ciel saw.

Sebastian glared at the sun, and then down to the discarded poster in the dirt. Then he headed for the sheriff's station, his heart broken like the chandelier he'd shot down in Bard's emporium

……………………………………………………………………………

 

"West," the sheriff said.

The man was hunched over a crooked table, a number of his deputies around him, all peering over a dog-earred map of Heaven and her surrounding districts.

"Got word this morn he's moving west. Should be here tonight, unless we get to him first."

"He never comes this far north," Sebastian said, staring down at the map too.

The sheriff, so busy with his planning, had no time to linger on the strangeness of the hunter's words.

"Mighty unusual," the man shrugged, his collar soaked through with sweat. "I guess that son of a bitch got business in Utah."

Sebastian couldn't feel his heart no more. It had slowed to a crawl, his blood like molasses. He was miserably aware of how unprepared he was, and the sinking sun only added to the weight he felt press down on him.

"Me and the deputies are gonna ride out and put a halt on him at twilight. If he makes it to Heaven there's no telling the damage he might do," explained the sheriff. "We've been after DuBois for years, he always manages to slip right by us."

Sebastian knew exactly how that felt.

When he walked out of the sheriff's station he felt no more prepared than when he had when he walked in there. He wondered if he could convince Ciel to hire a hotel room, to fall asleep for an hour or two - enough time for Sebastian to slip out and take care of Addison himself.

If he could shoot his daddy before the heir roused at dawn, his problems would be solved. Ciel would never have to face the maggot, the inheritance would be his, and most importantly - Ciel would never know how both the men were related.

He found the heir sitting in the dirt behind the horses, tucked away by the wall to hide from the world. His eye was wet with tears, wide and unblinking, staring at thin air before him. There was a graze on his cheek that wasn't there before, and when Sebastian ducked down to touch it, Ciel flinched as if he'd been awoken from a deep and horrible transfixction.

"What happened?" Sebastian asked, his thumb touching the shallow wound.

"I passed out," Ciel told him, wiping his face with his shirt sleeve.

The sun had got so low that his face took on the glow of it, his hair already reflecting the peach-coloured light.

"Which way's he heading?"

Sebastian helped the heir to his feet as he thought carefully of what he should say next.

"Heiress," he begun. "I think we should let the law handle this one."

Ciel's face tightened, all the dream-like misery evaporating from his features, replaced with stone-cold anger.

"Are you serious, Sebastian?"

The hunter didn't speak.

"You have no idea how long I've waited to catch this man," Ciel told him, his voice raising as he spoke. "You have _no idea_ what he did to me, or to my family! You can't possibly imagine how bad I want to kill Addison DuBois! I ain't letting that pleasure go to the Heaven sheriff's station!"

Sebastian bit his tongue until it hurt. 

"You'll get hurt," he said.

Ciel's eye flashed again, face hardened with contempt.

"I don't care," he seethed.

Sebastian realised he meant it in the most dire of ways. The heir was willing to risk everything to see Addison again - and suddenly Sebastian could see himself carry Ciel's body across the desert, small and cold, and limp against his chest.

He thought of his mother, of the kiss he pressed to her head beneath the blood-stained blanket of their bed. He thought of her hand growing cold as he squeezed it, so hard it might spring to life and squeeze back, just one last time.

"Which way did Addison go?" Ciel asked again, this time with that horrible and arrogant determination to his tone, his hand shaking like he might ride out into the desert all alone if he didn't get an answer.

"East," Sebastian lied.

 

 

……………………………………………………………………………

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this chapter (and want another speedy update) please kudos, comment, and/or come talk to me on Tumblr!!


	18. The Last Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is one of those chapters that I'm not very pleased with, but had to get out of the way because the next chapter is VERY important! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who left comments and kudosed my last chapter. Wow!! I was overwhelmed! I worked really hard to update this quickly for you guys because I was so, so grateful. I will do the same this time if you guys leave a comment and a kudos (or come talk to me on Tumblr) 😍

Each summer Ciel’s family held a soirée.

It was always an affair for the family and for the town of Clementine. The guests came in their finest suits and white gloves, satin skirts that swished across the polished floors of the antebellum mansion.

The grounds were speckled in lanterns, tablecloths fluttering in the sticky air. Laughter, the _clink_ of champagne glasses and the band drifted up into the branches of the oak trees, the Spanish moss dancing in the wind.

Ciel watched his mother flit between guests, like a hummingbird, flower to flower. She was gorgeous, all baby-blue silk and blonde ringlets that bobbed across her bare shoulders. The seventeen-year-old envied her, the dress, her little waist. He glanced at the mirror in the hall and sighed at his midnight blue suit.

His brother had been whisked off the moment the music had begun. Ciel had caught glimpses of him, dancing with women from well-to-do families, wearing that smile he’d inherited from his father. It left Ciel to sulk from room to room, uncharmed by the looks women, cheeks pinched florid by his drunk aunt, and unbearably lonely.

Passing his father’s office Ciel caught glimpse of white hair. He could hear low voices over the music, familiar as he crept closer to the open door. Adrian sat on his father’s desk, his suit stark against his pale hair. He took a drink from his tumbler and laughed at something Vincent said,

Ciel caught his breath when his daddy appeared, leaning close to the blonde’s ear and saying something that made the undertaker laugh again. Their gloved hands touched on the surface of the desk, pinkie fingers brushing purposefully over one another.

Ciel swallowed and stormed away from the door and whisked a drink from the tray of a passing servant. He took a sip of champagne, screwing his nose up as one bitter taste washed away the other.

He found his brother on the second-floor balcony, bent over the balustrade with a matching flute of champagne in his hand. His hair was slicked back, parted identically to their father’s, but his suit was like Ciel’s, that same midnight blue.

All the tension left Ciel’s body when he found him, thankful to lean over the balustrade beside him and take another sip of his champagne. The lawn below was full of people, their faces illuminated by candle-glow.

“I find it overwhelming sometimes,” his brother said. “All these people.”

Ciel knew. He could feel it, the tension in his twin’s back, the weight pushed down upon his shoulders. Not his burden to bare and yet he buckled under it, the same way he felt all his brother’s pains.

“Is this what the rest of my life will look like?” He added, gesturing to the crowd. “I don’t want to be like that.”

“Like what?” Ciel asked.

His brother cast him a sideways look. He used one white-gloved finger to push his nose up.

“Like _this_ ,” he drawled, and Ciel laughed so hard he choked on his champagne.

“At least daddy wants you to take over the company,” Ciel told his brother, shifting closer until their hips bumped together.

He took another sip from his drink. His brother drank too, their noses twitching at the same time.

“You know,” said his twin, “sometimes I wish I were the youngest. Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to do everything he said.”

Ciel made a disgusted noise, thinking of the way he’d seen his daddy flirting downstairs with another man, their mother unaware as she dallied in the gardens.

“He thinks he can do anything he likes,” Ciel muttered.

His brother’s sad smile turned into a smirk.

“ _Hm_. What did he do now?”

Ciel blushed. “Nothing.”

His brother hummed again, then leaned back down against the balustrade. He sighed, his eyes reflecting all the motion down below, his whole future laid out before him, glamorous, but not a choice in the matter.

“You know I ain’t going to leave you,” Ciel told him.

People always joked the twins could read each other’s minds. That’s not how Ciel saw it at all. He knew what his brother was thinking because they had the same mind. They shared it, as they did with everything else in their lives, except their futures.

“Maybe we could cut your hair off,” his brother decided, perking up. “Then daddy will have no idea which of us is older.”

Ciel snorted.

“He’d know,” he argued. “You’re uglier.”

His brother shoved him and champagne splattered on the porch, both boys giggling and stifling their laughter with their satin gloves. There’d be hell to pay tomorrow morning, when the floorboards were all sticky.

“You don’t have to stay here,” his brother said once the mood had sobered. “With me,” he added. “You’re free, Ciel. The world is at your feet.”

“I don’t want the world,” Ciel told him. “I just want to stay here with you.”

His brother scanned his face, his expression strange, and then thankful. When he exhaled Ciel could feel a weight lift, and the smile he received was not put on, or forced, or practiced.

“Come on,” his brother declared. “Let’s go dance.”

He offered his arm to Ciel but the younger boy made a face.

“Why?”

“I need an excuse to dance with my brother?”

Ciel narrowed his eyes at his twin but took his arm none-the-less.

“You’re just doing it to piss daddy off,” Ciel guessed.

His brother smirked.

“Never,” he breathed.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

They rode twenty miles before they stopped.

The summer days caused the sunset to linger for hours, the night to remain hot even when the sun sat on the horizon. Its dying rays made the shadows of their horses miles long, both beasts worn and sweating when the the heir finally coaxed Rabbit to a stop.

The boy looked over his shoulder and locked eyes with Sebastian, his face pink and his chest rising and falling. Twilight fell upon his features, made his eye seem that much bluer as the teenager blinked back tears.

“Where is he?” Ciel cried out, turning Rabbit in a circle. “We should have seen him by now. A track, at least.”

It was clear Ciel was upset. He rubbed at his face with the heel of his hand, tried to stifle the sounds he made, ragged breathing that was tragically giving way to sobs.

“I don’t know, heiress.”

The words tasted like ash to Sebastian. The sight of Ciel, frustrated and on the verge of tears, made his chest feel like stone. He looked over his shoulder and back in the direction of Heaven, wondering if Addison had reached it, or if the sheriff had done his job and shot the bastard dead.

Knowing his father, the sheriff would be six feet under come sun up.

Sebastian turned back round to the sound of Ciel moving Rabbit up a crest, her hooves kicking white dust into the night. The mare was tired too, just like her master, but endeavoured up the hillside. With a snort and a nudge against his ribs, Diablo followed.

When he got to the top Ciel was staring out to the east, clutching his reins so tight his fist shook.

“You sure the sheriff said east?” Ciel asked, not turning to address the hunter.

Sebastian swallowed. “I'm sure, heiress.”

Each lie felt like a rock dropped into the pool of his stomach. He watched the profile of Ciel's face, his feminine nose twitching like he were about to burst into hysterics. He screamed instead, in sheer frustration, so hard his voice broke and the sound came out rough, and raw, and agonised.

Another rock joined the pile in Sebastian’s guts.

Then the tears came.

Hot, furious tears. So many that the heir couldn’t wipe them away before they dripped down his cheek. He started to sob, Rabbit's ears flicking back at the distressed noise. It was so haunting that Sebastian considered, just for a moment, telling Ciel that he had lied.

But, as the boy covered his hand with his mouth and stifled his miserable sounds, Sebastian reconciled that a heartbroken Ciel was far better off than a dead one.

“I can’t do this no more,” said the boy, parting his fingers so he could be heard. “I want it to be over.”

It was the second time Sebastian had heard Ciel say that. The words made him feel cold, even in the humid night air.

“So you can go home?” Sebastian tried.

Ciel finally looked at him. Although his hysterics had stopped tears still dripped down his face, strands of grey hair stuck to the wet. His expression hardened, eyelashes fluttering as he made a noise between his teeth, then looked back out at the dark, flat eastern horizon.

“Yes,” Ciel finally said. “So I can go home.”

Sebastian had never heard a prettier lie in all his life.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

They stopped when Ciel fell asleep.

Sebastian had been counting the speckles on Rabbit's back in an effort to keep himself awake when the kid slumped. Sebastian almost shouted in relief. He’d longed for hours to stop but didn’t dare tell the heir that. After all, it was his lie that had spurred the midnight, phantom chase.

Sebastian hopped off Diablo, snared Rabbit by her reins and pulled her to a stop. She nickered when Sebastian tugged Ciel off her back and relieved the mare from his small burden. Ciel was warm against his chest, his head tucked under his chin as Sebastian shook his ankle free of the stirrup.

He intended to put him down onto the dirt but found he couldn’t, paralysed by the boy’s weight. It perturbed him that a boy so powerful, so riddled with pain, could fit so easily in his arms. He leaned down and pressed his nose into his hair, inhaling the powdery scent of his shampoo.

When he looked up Diablo was staring at him, and it embarrass the hunter so badly that he blushed.

He laid down a blanket and put Ciel on it, sitting on the dirt beside him as the boy slept. Ciel slept so deeply that the world might have ended and the kid wouldn’t have fluttered his eyelashes for it. Sebastian looked out into the dark west, like Addison might come riding out of the dark like the Armageddon itself.

He sat there until the sun came up and the desert became the colour of lavender blossoms, and peaches, and Ciel’s skin looked like strawberries and cream. Sebastian reached out and combed the grey hair off the boy’s face, his knuckles grazing the split running down the side of his face. The boy sighed, turning his cheek. Sebastian drew a line against his nose, pressing his thumb into the upturned tip until the boy twitched it.

When the sun came high enough to kill the long, crawling shadows, Sebastian lit a fire. While the heir slept he cooked rice, stirring at it while the horses plucked out dew-speckled tufts of grass from the rocks. When the fragrant dish woke Ciel from his slumber, the hunter poured a dollop of honey into the mix, then cut a peach to stir in too, simmering until the dish became syrupy.

He scooped out a small bowl for Ciel, a slightly larger bowl for himself, and tried to ignore how pretty Ciel looked when he rubbed the sleep out of his eye, subdued and innocent, his voice raw with sleep.

“Thank you,” the heir said, quieter than the dawn.

Sebastian said nothing. He watched the heir eat, satisfied with the way the eighteen-year-old sighed at his cooking, his anguished face softening at the taste. He took small, careful bites, like a cat, occasionally glancing at the sunrise until something caught his eye.

“Sebastian,” he said, a crease between his eyebrows.

“Heiress.”

“Do you ever see things that aren’t there?”

Sebastian finished his mouthful of honey rice and swallowed, glancing at the sunrise like there were something to behold. All he saw was sun, glaring light that made his eyes hurt.

“Like what?”

Ciel stared a little longer before breaking his gaze, looking down at his breakfast and plucking out a peach half. He chewed on it for sometime, disturbed by whatever he had seen.

“Like your mamá?”

Sebastian frowned too.

“I ain’t seen her since she died,” he told him, transfixed by the haunted look upon the kid’s face.

It took the beauty from the sunrise, made it eerie and pale, made Sebastian look at it with a contempt reserved for the things that dulled the smile from Ciel’s fair face.

“Heiress, you ain’t acting like yourself.”

Ciel looked up and caught Sebastian’s eye. Although he stared directly at him, the hunter felt like he was made of glass, transparent, and Ciel could see something behind his head, and was not looking at him at all.

“I thought he was going to be here,” Ciel exhaled.

Sebastian's shoulders fell and he preoccupied himself with his breakfast, pawing at it with his fork until the peach was diced to paste.

“Well he ain't,” he said, his stomach tight. “What you want to do now?”

Ciel looked back towards the sun, his skin the colour of bone.

“Keep moving east,” he said.

Sebastian, without a say in the matter, forced the rest of his rice past the lump in his throat.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

They went east for two whole weeks.

Each night, as Ciel laid down inside his tent and stared up at the canvas, he told himself they would turn back tomorrow. They found no trace of Addison, not even a whisper, and the disappointment ate away at him like the sand that wore away the stone canyons they slept in.

But each morning, as the sun rose, he could see his brother walking the horizon and forgot about the promise that he made to himself. His brother’s image, once perfect and young, grew darker with each day. Blood dripped from his stomach and into the sand. The sight only broke the heir’s heart and renewed his hatred.

“East,” he told Sebastian, each morning.

Even though it paled the hunter’s expression when he told him, made his shoulders fall as if he too shared the weight the heir carried. Each day without Addison was a day wasted, and yet Ciel couldn’t think of anything else.

He slept with the image of cider-coloured eyes in his head, and he woke to them, and tasted them when he ate. He breathed and he bled for Addison DuBois, and it clouded out all sensibility inside him, and drove him to continue east.

………………………………………………………………………….

 

On the border of Utah and Colorado was a town called Temperance.

To the west of Temperance was the desert, flat and orange, flat but for the copse of Juniper trees that welcomed both men into town. To the east, blue mountains. Their cool kiss could be felt in the breeze, even on the muggy, summer afternoon.

The town was known for its grand hotel, a stunning Victorian mansion at the end of the main street, jade green and three stories tall. The hotel was framed by the mountains, and when the afternoon sun caught her paint, the gold trim gleamed and made Ciel’s breath catch at the sight.

But what drew him to Temperance was the wanted poster in his hand, a familiar sketch printed over thick, black letters.

 _Verne Kelly_.

In the town before last, Ciel and Sebastian had arrived in the midst of disarray. A banker had been shot dead by a criminal, one that Ciel recognised immediately when shown a poster. Verne Kelly had been seen heading east, so the boys chased after him, both privately eager to distract themselves from their fruitless search for Addison.

July in Utah didn't suit Ciel the way Louisianan summers did. The boy had no fan to shade himself with as they rode into town, no ice to melt beneath his tongue, or linen clothes to lounge in. Instead he could feel dust gathered around his collar, melting into sweat, dripping down the back of his shirt and staining it.

His hair felt greasy, the rivers between Heaven and Temperance too thin to bathe in. He could feel grime on every inch of himself, his smell was no better. He tried to cover it with perfume but soon ran out, leaving the glass bottle in the hot sand to fade out like the buffalo bones they’d camped beside.

Sebastian faired no better, his skin slick with perspiration, and his jaw had grown stubbly in the weeks since leaving Heaven. He rubbed at his scratchy jaw as they reached the grand hotel, staring up at her grandeur.

“There,” Ciel said, following the hotel up to her highest peak. “If I were a young man with a thousand stolen dollars, I'd stay _there_.”

Ciel hungered as he looked - for a fine meal, a feathered bed, and to taste once more the life he'd turned his back on, an oasis of luxury in the rugged West.

“He'd have to be stupid to stay in the largest eyesore in town,” Sebastian drawled.

Ciel shot him a look. His hunter, skilled in many things, had no eye for beauty.

“He would have to be stupid to rob a bank in broad daylight too,” Ciel whipped, tossing one braid over his shoulder. “Or to murder the richest family in Louisiana.”

Sebastian hummed in reply, and they rode over to the hitching post outside the hotel, dismounting and patting the dust off their dark clothes.

“I think I’ll have steak tonight,” Ciel decided, unable to remember the last time he’d eaten meat.

Sebastian made a noise and shouldered past him, his disgust thinly veiled.

“You ought to be concerned about Verne Kelly,” he grumbled. “Not which animal you gon’ have for supper.”

Ciel shot him a look and raised his chin, slightly cowed.

“Hunting inspires an appetite,” he shrugged.

Sebastian muttered something Spanish under his breath.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

The bedroom was larger than the house Sebastian grew up in.

Ten times larger, and doubly as beautiful. When the concierge unlocked the door to the hotel room, placing the key into his hand as he lead Ciel to his own door, the hunter was unable to do anything but stare at the sheer size of it.

The carpet looked so clean he dare not step on it. Every surface glistened. The window was open, a fresh pitcher of water on the dresser, roses on the bedside. The bed itself was so wide Sebastian might have laid sideways and still had room to stretch his legs. The sheets so soft that when he crossed the room and smoothed his fingers over them, they caught against his calloused hand.

It was _too_ big.

Sebastian would have been happy to sleep at the floor of Ciel’s bed, on the carpet that looked better than any dirt floor or grassy field he’d rested in before. He was too shy to touch anything, so instead he perched on the end of the ornate bed and lit himself a cigarette to soothe his nerves.

When he’d finished his third cigarette, someone knocked at the door.

“Fuck off,” Sebastian called.

Ciel, always eager to rub Sebastian raw, entered anyway.

He looked clean. Radiant, even. It was clear the kid had made good use of the deep, porcelain bathtub in his own room. He smelt like the flowers on the dresser, he looked them them too. Fey and delicate, his cunning smile the hidden thorn.

“I ain’t never had a room this big before,” he told Ciel, crushing the last of his cigarette.

“Well,” Ciel drawled, leaning against the wall by the window, “get used to it. With my fortune you could live like this every night for the rest of your life.”

Sebastian snorted. He could think of nothing worse.

“This ain’t for me,” was all he said.

Ciel raised an eyebrow, fiddling with the large sapphire he wore on his small hand. “And what is?”

Sebastian was possessed by the same emotion he had in Bard’s emporium. The one where he longed to hitch Ciel over his shoulder and ride off with him, somewhere far away. Far enough away that no one would find them, not even his father.

“Not this,” he shrugged, not brave enough to speak the truth.

Ciel twitched his nose.

“Kelly’s staying in the room below us,” Ciel told him, tapping his boot on the carpet.

Sebastian wondered why the kid even bothered taking a bath - he’d be bloody by the hour if that smirk of his had anything to say about it.

“And how’d you find that out?”

Ciel shrugged.

“I asked the concierge nicely.”

Ciel’s mouth quirked up but he quickly concealed the smug smile, pushing off the wall to get closer to Sebastian, his hands on his hips.

“What’d you do?” Sebastian huffed. “Suck him off?”

Ciel’s smile fell away and he became florid.

“I bribed him,” the kid hissed. “In _bills_. Unlike you, I ain’t possessed by the desire to bed everything that moves.”

Sebastian hummed, still bitter at the thought of Bard Delacroix’s hands around Ciel’s skinny waist.

“So we gon’ kill him or what?” He mumbled, watching Ciel’s blush extend from his cheeks to his throat, and sink down under the collar of his expensive shirt.

The kid flicked a length of hair over his shoulder and glared out the window, blinking furiously to dispel his rosy complexion.

“When it gets dark,” he said to the sky outside.

Sebastian glanced at the sun, and then lit a fourth cigarette.

………………………………………………………

 

Verne Kelly didn’t look up when Ciel unpicked his door.

He was neck deep in the bathtub, his hair clinging to the lip. Music came up through the floorboards, muffled by the carpet but loud enough to smother Ciel’s footsteps. The heir drew his knife and crept closer, the door closing with a neat _click_ as Sebastian followed him inside.

Kelly was young. Broad and brunette, not yet withered by his thirties. He might have been a handsome man if Ciel didn’t have cause to hate him, and thus the sight of his relaxed body made the boy hurt all over in anger, in liquified hate that boiled in his heart and spread out to every inch of him.

Kelly’s startled cry when Ciel put his knife against his throat sounded better than the music from downstairs. It mimicked the sounds Ciel made himself that night, scared and vulnerable, at the mercy of the man holding a knife to his neck. Ciel thrilled at the pleasure that came with the sensation of a man going still in his arms, terrified into paralysation.

“I k-knew you were coming,” Kelly stammered.

Ciel curled his free hand into his damp hair and yanked it back, looking down into Kelly’s eyes, his chin shaking as he tried to put on a brave face.

“Not tonight you didn’t,” Ciel said, pressing the tip of his knife to Kelly’s jugular. “Who hired you?”

“I ain’t telling you.”

Kelly’s face contorted. Ciel saw right through him. He was terrified. His bare knees sent ripples in the bathtub where he shook.

Ciel let go of Kelly’s head and Sebastian was quick to take hold of him, his large hand curling around Kelly’s throat to keep him pinned down to the bath. The brunette’s fingers curled around the lip, white knuckled. Ciel walked around to traced one gloved finger over his shaking hand.

“You’re going to tell me who hired you, or I’m going to take away something that you’ll miss.”

Kelly swallowed, his eyes darting from Ciel’s face, down to the knife in his hand. The heir pointed it at Kelly’s finger, letting the tip dig in enough to make the man shout.

“Addison!” The brunette shouted, jerking his hand away. “Addison DuBois!”

Ciel looked up at Sebastian, who kept Kelly pinned with one hand, so effortless that it transfixed the eighteen-year-old. The muscle in the hunter’s arm was thick, bunched in effort, the material of his sleeve stretched over the bulge.

“I already know about Addison,” Ciel said. “I want to know who hired _him._ ”

He stepped forward and grabbed Kelly’s wrist, and before he could jerk away again, he cut off the end of his smallest finger. Sebastian’s hand slapped over his mouth, muffled the gargled sound the man made when his finger hit the floorboards. A spray of blood hit Ciel’s shirt, his chin, and the ends of his hair.

“I don’t know!” The brunette sobbed when Sebastian released his mouth, sucking in an agonised breath. “I don’t fucking know!”

Ciel licked the flat of his knife, collecting the spilled blood against the jron, closing his eye at the taste of it. The power coiled in his stomach, steeling his hand, magnifying the hate he felt for the pitiful man.

“I guarantee you Kelly,” Ciel hissed, “you’re going to miss what I cut off next.”

He removed his glove with his teeth and then plunged his naked hand into the bath tub. He leaned down to curl his fingers into Kelly’s crotch, smiling when the man flinched and made a horrified sound.

“Valentine!” Kelly shouted, jerking his knees up to his chest. “Valentine! His name was Valentine!”

Ciel withdrew his hand.

“Valentine,” he repeated. “Valentine Whitlock?”

“You know him, heiress?”

The boy nodded. He felt ill, like he might buckle and collapse right there by the bathtub tub. _Valentine Whitlock_. The colour left his face, the floor of his stomach falling through.

“He’s the vice president of my daddy’s committee,” Ciel said. “Acting president, currently.”

He thought back to his eighteenth birthday, sitting beside Adrian in the church. The undertaker had been right.

“He came to our Christmas parties,” Ciel continued. “To my mother’s birthday, I-”

He stopped, pressing his lips together so he wouldn’t throw up. He breathed in, then out.

“Valentine paid you to kill my family?” Ciel asked, very softly.

“N-no,” Kelly blurted. “Just Vincent. But the woman, she struggled, it was an accident-”

“And my brother and I?”

“Said just to mess around with you a little,” Kelly choked, shaking his head. “Not to k-kill you.”

“So we’d be unable to take over the company before our eighteen birthdays,” Ciel finished for him, letting go of a shallow breath. “So he could build the railroad through Pawnee territory.”

Ciel let go of his knife and it plunged into the floorboards with a _thud_. He felt weak, his throat clamped shut, his chest tight with agony.

Sebastian looked as sick as Ciel felt, his jaw locked and his arm trembling where it tightened around Kelly’s neck. Ciel listened to the outlaw choke, his fingers squeaking on the porcelain when he felt Sebastian start to strangle him.

“Kill him,” Ciel uttered.

Sebastian’s face darkened, then he inclined his head into a nod. With his hand still on Kelly’s throat he pushed him down, submerging his terrified face beneath the pink water. Ciel watched a flurry of bubbles breach the surface and then he left, sitting on the edge of Kelly's bed as he listened to the man die.

When Sebastian stood his shirt was soaked through, his hands still shaking. He walked over to Ciel and kneeled in front of him, unblinking, his bright auburn eyes equally terrifying and attractive. He reached up and brushed Ciel’s hair back from his cheek.

“Chicago,” Ciel said to him, closing his eye at the heat of Sebastian’s hand.

“What?”

“Valentine lives in Chicago. Once Addison’s dead we’ll go there and kill him, then this will all be over.”

His revenge was so close he could taste it on the back of his tongue, like the bile that came up from his throat.

“Is Valentine a criminal?”

“Yes,” Ciel said. “He killed my family.”

“No, heiress. Is he a _convicted_ criminal?”

Ciel's heart clenched.

“No,” he said.

Sebastian let go of his cheek, still crouched before him, and rubbed at his eyes.

“What the fuck you think is gon’ happen if you ride into Chicago and kill him?”

Ciel could feel the lump in his throat, the pit in his stomach. He shook his head, his eye welling with tears.

“I imagine they’d arrest me.”

Sebastian barked out a cold laugh.

“They’d _hang_ you,” he growled.

 _Good_ , Ciel thought.

When Sebastian jerked his head up he realised he had spoken it aloud.

Sebastian’s face changed, from angry, to something darker. Ciel cried, to upset to wonder what it meant.

“You're going back home,” Sebastian decided. “Tonight. I'll complete the rest of the kills for you heiress, like promised, but I ain't sign up for the rest.”

“You promised me,” the heir uttered, hot with rage. 

“I promised you revenge,” Sebastian spat. “Not a suicide mission.”

“I ain't going back to Louisiana.”

“Yes you are!” Sebastian shouted, standing up and grabbing the heir’s face until it hurt. “What did I tell you when we first met?”

Ciel swallowed the sob of pain he felt, his fingers curling in the bedsheets.

“You called me a whore.”

Sebastian squeezed harder and a yelp slipped past Ciel’s teeth.

“I told you I ain’t work with kids!”

He let go of Ciel’s face and shoved him, his back hitting the mattress.

“When are you going to stop seeing me as a child?”

“And see you as what?” Sebastian seethed.

“A man!” Ciel cried, sitting up, his chest heaving. “I ain't a kid no more, you know I ain't no kid!”

Sebastian barked out a laugh, planting both hands on Ciel's chest so he could shove him back down again, forcing a gasp out of the teenager.

“I'll stop seeing you as a kid when you quit letting your anger get the better of you,” he replied.

Ciel laughed, so upset he couldn't care to be nervous of Sebastian's strength, the knowledge this man could break him if he saw fit. Deep down he wanted that, the pain, to distract him from his own embarrassment, his failure.

“Like you're one to talk,” Ciel hissed, mustering the coldest stare he could manage, driving it into Sebastian's coal-hot glare.

“You're going home,” the man said. “I ain't looking out for you no more. You don't belong here, heiress.”

Ciel huffed again, too upset to speak again, his hands balled in useless fists by his side. When Sebastian let him go he stayed pressed there, against the bed, his heart hammering against his ribs. The door closed with a slam, leaving Ciel alone with Verne Kelly’s body.

…………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian was in the bath when he heard it.

 _Thud_. Like a bottle hitting the carpet, followed by a soft curse. He blinked up at the hotel ceiling, dark aside from the lantern on the floor. He listened to feet pad across the floor, followed by muffled sob.

The bounty hunter groaned, sinking down into the warm water so he wouldn’t have to listen to Ciel’s tantrum. His muscles, loose from the heat, bunched up again when he heard another _thud_ from under the water. He resurfaced with his teeth grit, staring at the wall that separated his and Ciel’s hotel rooms.

His hair was still damp when he thudded on Ciel’s door.

He didn’t bother with his gloves or his hat, dressed only in his shirt, trousers and boots. He felt cleaner than he had in months and smelt, admittedly, of rose-scented soap. But he felt just as dirty on the inside, thudding harder when Ciel did not answer, cut off mid-knock when the heir yanked his door open.

The heir was dressed in his green robe, falling off one shoulder to reveal his skimpy pyjamas, his stomach exposed where his shorts rode low on his hips. His face was pink, cheeks glossy with stray tears, and when he spoke Sebastian realised very quickly the boy was drunk.

“They have liquor in our rooms,” he said, voice syrupy. “Did you know?”

He raised a bottle of mezcal he up to the light. Sebastian screwed his face up at it, pushing past the kid and into his room. He grabbed Ciel by his arm and dragged him inside too, shutting the door behind them.

“You really piss me off,” he told the kid, giving him a shove until he sat down on the sofa.

On the floor was another bottle, leaking liquor into the carpet. Sebastian looked from it, to the rumpled bed sheets, to Ciel’s clothes strewn across the floor.

“I didn’t say you could come in here,” Ciel complained, his accent even thicker when he was drunk.

He looked illegal. Sebastian felt wrong to stare, the boy so inebriated he didn’t cover his flat stomach, or mind the way his shorts rode up his leg. His hair, just like the silk of his robe, slipped over his shoulder and splayed against the sofa cushions. He looked like a risqué painting, beautiful and illicit all at once.

The band was still playing downstairs, loud enough to hear when the room became silent. Sebastian sat down across from the kid, examining the bottles lined up on the low table between them.

"The fuck is the matter with you?" He asked, pouring himself a drink.

“Can’t I have a drink?” Ciel hissed. “Or am I too childish for that, too?”

Sebastian took a long, long drink to work the tension out of his back. When he was done he sat his glass down and refilled it, glancing up at the pouting heir. He narrowed his eye at the hunter, but the man could see fresh tears threatening to fall.

"My family is dead," Ciel shrugged, raising his chin in an effort to seem cold. "My entire f-family," he added, lip trembling.

Sebastian finished his second drink in one swallow. He couldn't handle the heir sober, and he couldn't handle him drunk. He especially could not handle him when he began to cry.

“Heiress, I know.”

Ciel shook his head and took a drink right out the bottle he held, his face crumpling in pain.

“It’s almost been a year and I only just realised,” he said quietly. “They ain’t _never_ coming back. I ain’t never gonna see their faces again, or hear their voices.”

The boy dropped his head into his hands and began to cry again. His shoulders shook, his mournful sobs filling the room over the distant music. As Sebastian watched he felt his chest cleave apart, an ache so deep he felt ill.

“I can't do it anymore," Ciel continued, his chest heaving with his sobs, "I’m too t-tired. I just want to be with them again.”

Sebastian’s chest clenched.

“You can’t, heiress.”

The boy swallowed, his face arrested in misery, and when he looked back at Sebastian with his melancholy expression, the hunter knew perfectly well that Ciel _could_.

Placing his whiskey on the table, Sebastian stood and walked over to the heir. He continued to cry, gorgeous and dramatic, everything Sebastian wasn’t, everything he did not know how to handle. He kneeled on the floor again, just like he had in Kelly’s room, and brushed back the heir’s damp hair.

Then Ciel pushed himself against his chest and wound both arms around his shoulders.

The heir smelt nice, he felt nice. He was warm, and his bare skin was plentiful, and Sebastian struggled not to touch it when he melted into the touch, letting Ciel nestle into his skin. The kid put his head against his throat, pressed his nose to his neck and stifled his sobs, his gentle fingers curling into the damp locks of Sebastian’s hair.

He let the boy hold him, his body trembling, his own fingers brushing the bare skin of Ciel’s naked shoulder. Eventually he calmed, his breath slowing, his ribs expanding and contracting softly under Sebastian’s palm. His eyelashes tickled his skin, his lips brushing the hunter’s throat when he opened them to speak.

“I killed my brother,” he whispered.

Sebastian swallowed, carefully moving his hand up to press between Ciel’s shoulder blades.

“No you didn’t,” he whispered back.

Ciel shook his head, curling his arms tighter around Sebastian so he could worm closer to his heat.

“You don’t understand,” he breathed. “He died because of me. It was my fault.”

“None of it is your fault.”

Ciel hiccupped, and fresh tears left his eye and bled into Sebastian’s shirt. He splayed his hand over his back and pulled him closer, staring at the sofa over the boy’s back, his arm trembling, his heart thudding painfully in his chest.

“I killed him,” Ciel cried again, and he sounded so forlorn that Sebastian broke.

He pulled away and cupped the kid’s head in both his hands, smoothing back his hair and looming over him until their noses almost touched. Ciel’s breath hitched, the end of his nose pink, his eye wide and startled.

“I’m gon’ find Addison for you,” Sebastian promised, “and I’m gon’ make sure he _never_ does this to anyone again."

Ciel was silent but his crying stopped. He gave a small nod, and didn’t struggle when Sebastian curled his arms around him and helped him to stand up.

“Go to bed” he told the kid, guiding him backwards to the mattress. "You gon' regret drinking so much in the morning."

But the boy didn’t go and instead wound his arms around Sebastian again. Standing, Ciel only came to his chest, his arms around Sebastian’s waist. But he pressed his cheek to the man’s breast and exhaled, clinging on like it might kill him to let go.

Sebastian bravely put his hand against Ciel’s waist.

The heir was warm, his skin smooth and delicate, intoxicating to be so close to, heart fluttering like a bird where it was pressed to Sebastian's chest.

The band continued to play on, it’s echo drifting through the floorboards, and Ciel rocked, ever so gently to one side. Sebastian caught him, flattening his hand around his hip. He felt the heir step between his feet and shift to the other side, one of his hands seeking out Sebastian’s arm, and then his wrist, and then his hand. He entwined their fingers together, cheek still pressed to his shirt, and swayed back and forth again.

It was Sebastian’s first dance.

It was slow, stilted. It was a ghost of a dance. Ciel hummed between his lips, refusing to lift his head from Sebastian’s chest. The hunter held him, terrified of stepping on his small toes, only moving when Ciel nudged him.

They danced until Ciel stopped, and Sebastian thought he was asleep. But when he looked down Ciel’s eye was open, staring up at him, and his free hand was pressed between their chests, fingers still shiny with his healing burn.

He reached up with it and touched Sebastian’s face. His small hand fit against his cheek, brushed his jawline and his nose, mapped out one side of his face as the hunter’s tendon flinched beneath the terribly gentle touch.

“You’re so handsome when you shave,” Ciel said, his thumb tracing Sebastian’s cheekbone.

Sebastian swallowed when the kid put his fingers against the nape of his neck and scritched his hair, making him shiver against his will.

“You’re drunk,” he said, his face hot.

Ciel gave him a sage smile and nodded, tucking back the hunter’s hair. Then he leaned up on his tip-toes, tugged his hair to draw him lower, and put a warm kiss against Sebastian’s cheek.

The hunter froze, his heart still in his chest.

It was his first kiss, too.

When he lowered Ciel to the bedsheets the boy refused to let go of him. Sebastian crawled into the middle of the bed but the heir dragged him down to eye level, staring at the hunter so intensely that his stomach knotted.

“Stay with me,” Ciel breathed, not a request, but an order.

Sebastian could taste his breath, sharp like mezcal, but sweeter. When he exhaled it touched Ciel’s skin. He was so close he couldn’t bare it, he felt sick, his skin prickled as the boy dragged him lower and lower.

“Sebastian,” the boy said.

The hunter closed his eyes when Ciel’s breathed over his mouth. He inhaled, steeling his jaw, his hand curling so hard into the sheets he ruined them.

“Don’t make me go back to Louisiana,” Ciel said.

The ends of the noses touched and Sebastian opened his eyes, staring into the abyss of Ciel’s wide, black pupil. Ciel was otherworldly, he was not real. He made Sebastian nervous, like an animal, made him feel both small and endless.

“I won’t,” he promised, tracing Ciel’s nose with his own.

The heir closed his eye and he smiled, his hand loosening from Sebastian’s hair. But he didn’t let go, and the hunter didn’t move away, still bracketed over the kid as he breathed in, his chest swelling against the pale line of his sleep shirt.

When Ciel fell asleep Sebastian laid his head down upon him, pressing his ear against Ciel’s heart. He could hear it thud, slow and steady, and he relaxed, fingers still in his hair.

He fell asleep there, his head cradled to Ciel’s chest, and neither of them were haunted by bad dreams that night.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please kudos! Please comment! They make me write really, really fast! 😁
> 
> Also, come talk to me on Tumblr: bun-o-ween


	19. Eleanor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh man. I've literally been working on this scene for... years. I don't know how I feel about it. I'm a Virgo, I will always be my worse critic. I would love to know what you thought!
> 
> And as always, I would adore some kudos and some comments if you enjoyed this chapter.

The wind kissed the cattails.

Ciel dipped his feet into the cool water, river twisting through his toes as he skimmed them on the surface. When the boy laid back against the grassy banks he exhaled with a happiness only a ten-year-old could possess.

The reeds bobbed above him and a littering of spider lilies splayed beside his head. He could see his mother through them, a vision of white amongst the swamp roses. Her cream skirts billowed out across her blanket, face dappled by the light of an oak tree.

Rachel smiled when she saw her son. Her wedding ring sparkled in the sunlight as she waved. Her hair fell in blonde cascades. Ciel touched his own hair and wondered if his would ever be that long.

“Look at you,” his mother cooed, skirts swishing as she waltzed over to her youngest child. “My little whistling duck.”

She knelt and cupped his cheek, perfume catching in the wind. Ciel grinned at her upside-down face, her hair falling to tickle his cheek. Laughter echoed across the river, a spray of water catching Ciel’s knees when his brother scrambled onto the banks to join them.

“Ah,” their mother smiled. “My baby alligator, too.”

The eldest twin made a show of gnashing his teeth, throwing wet arms around his mother so he could smother her, greedy for her affection like the flowers arching up into the sun.

“Come swim with us,” his brother begged, fingers tugging linen skirts.

Mischief unfurled in Ciel’s stomach and he took a handful of skirts too. He tugged, wriggling back into the water like the duckling his mother thought he was. His mother shrieked with laughter, trying to pluck her devil's fingers from her skirts as she trampled spider lilies with her heel.

But then she was whisked away, up into the air alongside the clouds.

“Don’t worry darling,” said a deep voice. “I’’ll save you from the beasts.”

Vincent pressed his nose into Rachel’s cheek, his sturdy arms around her, his smile bigger than the Louisianan sky.

“I’m a _duck_ ,” Ciel corrected, matter-of-factly.

His daddy’s eyebrow raised as he lowered his wife back to her feet.

“Oh?” He said, a strand of hair falling between his eyes. “A little duck, is that so?”

Ciel raised his chin, mirroring his father’s smile.

“You know what I was saying to your mother only this morning?” He asked, shrugging out of his tailored jacket.

“What, daddy?”

Vincent rolled the sleeves of his shirt above his elbows. When he looked up his grin was telling, but both boys were so transfixed by his presence they had no time to run.

“That I haven’t had _duck à l'orange_ in such a long time.”

He lunged at Ciel, who cried out in hysteria, slipping under his daddy's arms to run for the safety of the brushes. His brother followed, laughs hiccupping as he dashed, grass crushed beneath bare feet. Vincent caught him first, sweeping his eldest into his arms to plant a firm kiss against his cheek.

“Got you,” he declared, wriggling his fingers on his son's stomach until the boy giggled into a stupor.

“Don’t eat me!” He squeaked, tormented by kisses to his face. “I’m an alligator, not a duck!”

He bared his teeth again and Vincent huffed, hoisting the ten-year-old over his shoulder.

“Then I suppose you belong in the river, huh?”

His brother wriggled and kicked as he was carried off, fingers curled into his daddy’s expensive vest as the sun dried his river-wet skin.

“Daddy, no!”

Ciel watched in fascination as his father, his well-dressed, _flawless_ father, waded into the river with all his clothes on and threw his brother into the middle of it. He disappeared with a scream, a _splash_.

Ciel’s eyes widened when his daddy turned his sights on him, whipping around to take off between the tall grass when his mother grabbed him by the arm and plucked him off the earth like one of the lilies.

When his daddy dragged him out into the water he laughed so hard he couldn't make a sound. His silent giggles _hurt_ , and the grip in his father’s shirt fruitless as he threw him in the river beside his brother. The boys thrashed, faces split by smiles, before they swarmed their father, pulling him in deeper.

“Rachel! Help!” He cried. “River rats!”

Ciel crawled onto his father and soaked his clothes, fingers plucking free his perfect hairstyle. He kissed his daddy's temple, his strong arm looping around his waist to keep him perched there, his other grasping for his brother to keep him close.

With his sons clinging like leeches, Vincent let himself fall back and all three of them submerged under the water. The world went dark, the sunlight filtered through the bubbled ceiling above them.

Ciel watched while the surface rose, his breath stolen away, but he wasn’t frightened. Not with his father’s arm around him, his sure hand splayed across his back.

And when they surfaced it was too loud, too bright – and the ten-year-old missed the secret world they’d emerged from, the cool depth of the tranquil Mississippi river.

Ciel woke with the weight of an arm still around his waist.

For a moment he stayed trapped inside his dream, the cotton clouds above his head melting into the ornate roof of his hotel room.

The boy's chest rose, then sank. His father’s voice rippled away as if someone had dropped a stone into the memory. But the weight across his middle remained, warm and encompassing across the narrow slip of his stomach.

Ciel could taste stale liquor on his tongue and his eyelashes were made of lead. His body came to life like it had been in hibernation, slow and aching, fingers crawling through soft sheets before they caught in a head of softer hair.

The heir tugged at the inky strands before realising they did not belong to him. His chest seized, the memory of last night lurching up out of the depths of his nauseated stomach.

He remembered crying.

And, his lips. Pressed hard to the bone of Sebastian's cheek.

Ciel turned florid in an instant. He swallowed, his throat tight. His chest filled with something denser than his liquor sickness, an overwhelming misery, and a confusion so thick his stomach writhed like water moccasins.

Sebastian’s head was heavy on his breast. His hand was splayed across his stomach, his fingers tucked under his shirt. The rough pads caught on Ciel's skin when he breathed in and the hairs on his arms raised.

The man’s breath rolled hot over Ciel’s navel and did nothing to appease the squirming inside the teenager. He exhaled and touched Sebastian’s hair again, drawing it away from his eyes so he could marvel at his handsome face.

The scar on Sebastian’s nose was a feminine pink, his eyelashes thick where they pressed to his brown cheek. Ciel smoothed out his fringe and let his knuckles kiss the bridge of his nose, his pinkie brush the bow of Sebastian’s mouth.

“You were dreaming,” the hunter said, suddenly.

Ciel froze, mortified the man had been awake. He did not withdraw his hand, fingers shaking where Sebastian’s warm words still clung to his skin.

“About home,” Ciel admitted.

Purposefully he let his stomach sink just to feel Sebastian’s hand shift against his ribs.

“Hm.”

When Sebastian swallowed the boy felt it against his belly. His heart hiccupped. When the man looked up his morning stubble brushed over Ciel’s sensitive skin.

“Prickly,” the heir complained, gasp caught in his throat.

Sebastian grumbled and shifted again, his eyes bright when his jaw dropped and he rubbed his stubble purposefully into Ciel’s gut. When his chin hit the tender of the heir’s belly the boy kicked, an involuntary squeal from his lips as he was tickled.

Sebastian grabbed his leg before he struck him, the sheer size of his hand around his thigh lewd in comparison. His eyes narrowed and he pushed Ciel’s leg back to the bed with a strength that made the heir go still.

“You gon' break my nose,” he mumbled, not removing his hand.

It stayed there above Ciel’s knee, fingers curling into the tendons beneath as he sat up, lines from the silk, green pyjamas pressed into his cheek.

As he looked down at the heir, unfairly handsome, Ciel reminded himself he planned to die soon.

He _needed_ to find Addison, and he needed to do it soon. He needed to find and kill the man before the weight on his chest grew too dense. Each passing day the trauma doubled, and Ciel could feel his ribs bend and crack under its weight. He needed to do it before he gave up on revenge, and caved in to suicide instead.

He imagined death would feel like the river. That when he pulled the trigger he'd fall backwards into the Mississippi. That the surface would rise up and Ciel's world would go black – and the arms of his mother, his father, and his twin would curl around him once more.

His breath would bubble out and his heart would stammer to a stop, and everything would be quiet, and peaceful, and nothing would hurt.

Or at least, so Ciel hoped.

But Sebastian’s patient, sleep-soft stare did nothing to inspire a call to action. He felt no need to rise, to chase or to kill, when pinned with such a devastating look.

Ciel wondered how Sebastian’s mouth would taste. If the man would be enraged if he leaned up to kiss him, if Sebastian would be the one to kill him instead of his own hand. It made Ciel delirious, almost giddy, to think of Sebastian choking him to death, the taste of his lips the last thing on Ciel’s mouth.

He wondered if his kiss would be firm and dry, like the hand still laid against his leg. Or would he kiss the way he spoke? Rough and rude, with skipped syllables and crude tongue.

Ciel brushed back his hair and bared his neck to the hunter, in hopes the man might lean down and take a bite.

“How you feeling?” Sebastian asked instead.

Ciel huffed.

“Peachy.”

He felt like hell. His stomach squirmed and if he closed his eyes too long his head swam. When Sebastian didn’t pay his throat any attention he reached up and touched his hair instead, threading black locks between his fingers.

“You got into the mezcal,” Sebastian said, like the boy couldn’t taste it's corpse in the back of his mouth. “Just when I thought I knew you...”

He plucked Ciel's hand out of his hair but didn’t release his wrist. Ciel touched his fingers, traced their thick and dexterous length.

“You’re the only one who knows me, Bastian.”

The hunter’s face fell when Ciel turned his hand and his burn caught in the light. All things considered, it healed well. The flesh of Ciel’s hand was shiny where it stretched over his knuckles and the undiscerning eye would not recognise the trauma it had survived.

But Sebastian could not look away, his face flush with unconcealed guilt.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Ciel blurted, curling his fingers over the hunter's hand. “Truly, it doesn’t.”

Sebastian didn’t look convinced. He watched as Ciel splayed his fingers, staring through them almost shyly.

“And... I’m proud of them,” Ciel added, hating how forlorn the Hispanic man looked.

“When I think about you in that river,” he told him, closing his eye to stem the hurt, “and I think of you dying and it, it seems like such a small price to pay, to know that you’re alive.”

Sebastian released a self-depreciating snort.

“And that makes you happy?” He sneered. “Knowing I’m alive.”

“Unquestionably.”

When Ciel was brave enough to open his eye, the hunter’s own were downcast to the bedsheets. He frowned, lips pressed in a serious line.

The heir sat up and Sebastian didn’t move away from him. He let Ciel rise, let him draw so close to his face that their noses brushed, a familiar touch. His breath hitched but he didn’t move, and Ciel could taste the hammer of his heart.

He looked down at Sebastian’s lips, slightly parted, his mouth dry and inviting and lonely. He shifted closer, his bare thighs nested in Sebastian’s lap. The man didn’t blink, but his eyelashes lowered to brush over Ciel’s own.

From the day Ciel woke up in a strange bed, his face bandaged, and his brother gone forever from his side - he'd wanted nothing but revenge. Not food, not drink. Not tenderness or memories, only cold and violent revenge.

But now he wanted a kiss.

One warm enough he could drag it with him into the depths of his own death.

Then, in the time it took for Ciel to consider his mortality, the moment passed. His ardour turned to dread. The butterflies in his stomach ceased to feel lovely and only made him ill.

“Heiress,” Sebastian breathed, so close Ciel could taste him.

His eyes flicked over his face like he could see the colour leave Ciel’s cheeks.

Ciel drew in a shaking breath and shoved Sebastian out of the way so he could scramble off the bed. He made it to the basin in time to throw up into it, all his dreams and joy and teenage wanting upheaved and swallowed by the drain.

When hands touched his back, and fingers drew his hair away from his face, Ciel knew he could not blame his sickness on the mezcal.

He looked at the mirror in front of him, lashes sticky with tears, and at the man stooped behind him, his face tight with concern.

Ciel heaved and threw up again, spitting dead butterflies into the sink.

………………………………………………………………………….

 

 

They turned back West that afternoon.

Sebastian could tell Ciel was possessed by something so dark he was no longer himself. The heir of Phantomhive had become an empty vessel, baby-faced and fair, and riddled with ghosts.

They rode quick, and they rode quiet.

Ciel stayed close. Closer than they’d ever been before – his hand always on Sebastian’s leg, his arm. His eye lingering on the back of his neck as they crossed Mojave desert. But it was only physical, and each time Sebastian tried to tug a tendril of emotion from the heir, it slipped away like smoke.

The silence was deafening.

Sebastian read to Ciel. The boy quit sleeping in his tent and instead curled at his lap, head pressed to Sebastian’s thigh like one of Agni's lambs. Sebastian’s voice growing more confident, his chapters finished faster, and when Ciel fell asleep on his knee he would map out his face with the ends of his fingers.

Sebastian begged a higher power to kill his father.

He knew the man was waiting for them. He knew he would not have given up, or ran back to the hole he crawled out from. He knew his father, and no hot-blooded male would ever quit chasing a boy like Ciel Phantomhive.

They avoided Heaven.

They rode right by her and for a town named Eleanor. Agni and Soma didn’t live far, less than an hour.

Sebastian told Ciel that, in hopes the kid would want to return there. Maybe this time he would stay. Maybe this time Agni could fix him, and save him from throwing his young life away.

“They'd want to see you,” Sebastian pushed. “We could lay low a week or two. The horses are tired.”

 _I’m tired, too_.

But Ciel ignored him. He was looking at a plume of smoke on the horizon. The horses smelt it and it spooked them, the ash catching in the breeze and bringing with it the smell of fire and the smell of death.

When they rode into Eleanor, the streets were littered with people.

“There’s been trouble here,” Sebastian said.

Trouble was an understatement. It looked like the devil himself had torn right through the heart of the little town.

The living poked through burnt belongings, every second house charred to its foundations. All the desert flowers were black, their petals scattered like the ashy fragments of lost homes.

The dead lay in the streets, as if the killing had happened so quickly the townspeople were still in shock, stepping around the corpses like they were chunks of charred wood.

Ciel drew in a ragged breath when they passed by a woman’s head, decapitated and bled out, soft blonde locks stained black with blood.

The townspeople stared at them as they rode. The carnage got worse the closer to the town centre they got. By the time they reached the sheriff’s station Ciel was bone white, his little hands gripped tight around his reins. He stared at the church, at the end of the main street, his eye wide and his jaw locked.

“It's on fire,” the heir whispered.

The boy was so transfixed by the fire he didn’t notice the townspeople, their narrowed eyes, their heartache reflected at the pair. Sebastian could hear them whisper, feel their hatred prickle on his neck.

“C’mon,” he urged.

He grabbed Ciel by his arm and pulled him into the sheriff’s station, away from the smouldering church.

“The hell happened here?” He asked the sheriff, the man hunched over his desk with his head in his hands.

He looked as broken as the town did, his crisp shirt smeared with ash. He glanced up as the men entered, eyes dark with sunken shadows. He scoffed at Ciel and Sebastian, but there was no joy behind his bark.

“You ain’t heard?” He croaked, smoke in his throat. “Band of men rode through here two nights ago. Maybe fifteen of ‘em, middle of the night. So quick we couldn’t do nothing...”

He trailed off, gesturing at thin air.

“Lit the darn church on fire, terrorised the towns folk, the women especially. Killed six innocent people, and all our whores too.”

Sebastian’s heart turned to lead.

“Who did this?” Ciel asked.

Sebastian looked at the boy, a single tear running down his cheek. The hunter could ran his tongue against his teeth and tasted bile, his stomach turning itself inside out.

“I guess I ought to show you,” said the sheriff.

He grabbed his hat from his desk and stood up, back bent with sleepless nights, soot falling from his boots as he staggered outside. Ciel followed without word, and Sebastian followed the heir.

The sheriff took them to the church, still on fire, creaking with it's crumbling bones, glass shattered and pews disintegrated. The townspeople followed with their eyes, that haunting stare that made Sebastian stiffen.

One wall of the church had not burned yet, still in tact enough that all three men could read the message painted on the side of it. It was printed in thick red letters, dried and dripping like it was wrote in blood.

 _I want the Phantom Darling and his dog_.

Ciel fainted.

Sebastian was too paralysed with fear that he had no time to catch the heir. He watched as the kid crumpled in the sand, pale as a corpse. He lowered himself down to his hands and knees, bracketed above the kid as if he could protect him from his daddy’s bloody message.

But he couldn’t.

It was hopeless.

The church burned to the ground.

………………………………………………………………………….

 

 

“They all died because of me.”

Ciel paced across the sand, his hand against his hip. His hat was on the ground, his hair pulled into a high ponytail that showed off his tense expression. His chest heaved against his trim vest, his free hand tugging at the silver cross around his throat.

“Innocent lives,” he repeated, “because of me.”

Sebastian stared down at the cigarette in his hand, hastily rolled, spilling ash between his boots. He was perched up on a rock, digging his heel into the side of it until the edges crumbled away.

“They weren’t all innocent,” he shrugged, speaking to the smoke.

Ciel's pacing stop, head whipping around so quick his hair flicked like Rabbit's tail. His face was florid and Sebastian suspected it was less from the warm July air, and more from his brewing turmoil.

“There ain’t nothing we could have done,” Sebastian added.

He glanced at Ciel through his eyelashes, then back down. Looking at the heir when he was angry was like looking at the sun.

Ciel turned to the horizon. In the north was a shallow canyon, it’s a depth a dark river along the sand. The kid looked at it like a starved dog looked at meat. Addison was camped there, the sheriff told them, right after he escorted them both to the edge of town.

“I thought he went east,” Ciel sighed, shaking his head. “If we – if _only_ , we... He must have slipped right by us. He’s playing games with us, Sebastian.”

The kid caught his lip between his teeth and sucked it. He tugged harder at his crucifix, as if a miracle might happen if he played with it enough. Sebastian stuck his cigarette between his lips and lit it, inhaling the smoke like his life depended on it.

“Sheriff said fifteen men,” he mumbled around the tobacco, still unable to look directly at the heir. “Even if we'd been here, we couldn’t have done nothing.”

Ciel’s nose twitched.

“He wanted _me_.”

Sebastian laughed. The sound was as bitter and arid as the desert surrounding them.

“So what, heiress? You gon' walk right into his camp and hand yourself over on a silver platter?”

Ciel swallowed, his cheeks bleeding a shade darker.

“Maybe you could try talking to Addison _nicely_ ,” Sebastian drawled, feeling more heated by the second. “Maybe you could flash your fuckin’ fortune at him and see if he don’t drop down on his knees for you like everybody else does.”

Ciel cracked his thumb in the fist of his hand. He looked at Sebastian like he were a bug. The hunter felt like one.

“I’m ending this tonight,” the kid said between his teeth, looking back towards the canyon. “I want it to be over.”

Sebastian couldn’t quell the fire in his gut, his desire to both strike the infuriating boy, and to clutch onto him so he wouldn’t go.

He inhaled another lungful of smoke, held the burn on his tongue a while, then released a shaky sigh. The sun was so bright he couldn’t see the smoke, only taste it, the sky fading baby blue to a foreboding lilac.

“You can want all you like,” Sebastian finally said, “but you can’t fight fifteen men.”

The hunter screwed up his face at the thought of Ciel left to the mercy of those fifteen men. He thought of his mother, beaten and outraged so many times by his father that her eyes glassed over and her soul died.

“I don’t need to kill all fifteen,” said the heir. “Just one.”

Sebastian watched him put his hands back on his hips, framing his small waist. He was even smaller than his mamá had been – he wouldn’t stand a chance.

Ciel was petite enough to break. Tiny enough that, perhaps, Sebastian could smack him with his rifle before he turned around. Knock him out and tie him up, drag him some place safe while all this trouble blew over.

But then Ciel turned back around, and the sunset caught his face. His soft lashes, high cheekbones, and his pouting mouth not spoilt by his frown.

Sebastian thought back to the first book that Ciel had read him – about the woman so beautiful men went to war for her.

Ciel stared at him, radiant and terrifying, and Sebastian finally understood what the author had meant.

………………………………………………………………………….

 

 

Ciel plaited his hair into a long braid.

Once finished it fell between his shoulders like a whipcord, lest for the wispy strands that lay against Ciel’s cheeks. The kid looked sweet in black – his gloves, his suit, the pretty bow around his throat, and the dead set look in his eye.

Sebastian lowered his gaze to the boys narrow wrists, the slip of skin between his jacket and his glove. The sapphire ring on his hand, evidence of the family that once loved him.

How could Sebastian be forgiven, in this world or the next, if he let the last Phantomhive die.

“What’s your plan?”

“Find Addison,” Ciel said. “Kill him.”

He glanced down at Sebastian, who was sitting in front of their small fire. The hunter had one knee bent, picking at a loose thread on his trousers to suppress the nauseating anxiety in his gut.

“That ain't no plan,” he told the kid.

Ciel made an indignant noise.

“Heiress, I’m serious. I ain’t have a good feeling bout this.”

Sebastian didn’t know which scared him more. Ciel getting hurt, or Ciel finding out that he was Addison’s relation. Guilt chewed away at him, and selfishly he hoped that neither would ever come to fruition.

Ciel shot Sebastian a withering look.

“It’s almost been one year since they died,” he bit. “I’ve waited for this night for too long.”

Sebastian knew exactly how he felt.

Still, he suppressed the anger in his chest, pressed his tongue into his cheek and exhaled hard through his nose.

“It ain’t safe. He knows we’re coming, heiress.”

“If we wait he’ll slip away!” Ciel’s voice cracked. “Don’t ask me to choose between you and Addison DuBois, because if I must, you’ll be sorely disappointed.”

Sebastian cracked his thumb into his fist. His heart gave a painful kick like it was throwing itself against his ribcage, a trapped and bewildered animal.

“If you go down there they ain’t just gon’ kill you,” Sebastian told the kid, forcing himself to look up and meet the cool glare of the young millionaire. “They’ll rape you too.”

With his face turned to the fire Sebastian saw the boy’s face turn white.

“I’d kill myself before they ever got the chance.”

Sebastian barked, a harsh and rotten laugh, his chest cracking like honeycomb, hurt oozing through the wounds.

“Ain't that your fucking plan anyway?”

The kid sucked in a breath.

Sebastian stood and cracked his neck, walking over to the kid so he could loom over him. His shadow fell over the heir's face. He stepped in until their chests touched, glaring down at the boy who kept his chin raised even as his lower lip trembled.

Ciel released a breath, lashes fluttering to shut against his cheek.

“You can’t imagine how it feels,” he whispered. “You don't know now how much it hurts.”

Sebastian bought his hand to the boy's face, tilting up his jaw. The moonlight caught his hair, the distant colour in his cheeks.

 _I know better than anyone else does_ , he wanted to say to him.

Instead he pressed his lips together and swallowed the pit caught in his throat.

"I'll help you kill Addison," he promised. "I swear, heiress. But it can't be tonight."

Ciel reduced himself to tears.

He shook his head, tried to cover his distraught face, but Sebastian plucked his fingers away, wanting to watch as the heir fell to pieces.

“I c-can’t do this anymore,” the boy cried. “I don’t want to do it no more.”

The heir pushed his head against Sebastian’s chest. His body pressed into his, the hunter’s arms fitting around shoulders, hand splayed on the small of his back. He allowed the kid to cry, the sound lost in the fabric of his shirt. Timidly, he cupped his head, tucking the boy beneath his chin.

But the more he pet Ciel, the harder the kid cried. Sebastian had never learned how to touch someone without hurting them.

The desert was silent for a few blissful minutes.

When the boy made to step back and wriggle away, Sebastian’s arms tightened in innately. The kid went stiff against his chest.

“Sebastian,” he said, a tremor in his voice. “Let me go.”

Sebastian stared at the black desert over Ciel’s shoulder, in the direction of the canyon.

“I can’t."

Ciel squirmed but Sebastian's arms constricted so tight they forced a nervous sound from the kid’s lips. He bucked, shook his head, began to pant, his chest surging against Sebastian’s, struggling to breathe.

“Let me go,” he said again, voice high with panic. “Let me go!”

He dug his nails through Sebastian’s shirt and into his skin. The man grunted. He squeezed tighter and Ciel screamed. The hunter slapped a hand over his mouth and caught it, Ciel’s lips open and wet against his palm. Fingers curled around the kid’s jaw and he screamed harder, eye wide with betrayal.

“I can’t,” the hunter breathed. “I can’t. Don’t make me hurt you, kid.”

Ciel thrashed so hard he got an arm loose, and used his fist to strike Sebastian’s face, quick as a snake. His nose cracked, a dollop of heat running down his lip and onto his teeth. The taste of blood made Sebastian snap, and he grabbed the heir’s head between his hands and butt their brows together so hard the noise was deafening.

The kid whined. He went limp, pitching against the hunter's chest. He blinked up in confusion, head still cupped in Sebastian's hand. The man wished he could keep him like this, docile and safe within his arms.

When the kid blinked sensibly into his eye, he bared his teeth at Sebastian.

“You promised me,” he hissed.

The hunter lowered Ciel to the sand. The boy went quietly, still glassy from the smack against his skull, fingers falling from his shirt.

They wrapped around the handle of Sebastian’s revolver instead, slipped it loose, and aimed it between the hunter’s eyes.

“Get the fuck away from me,” Ciel warned.

Sebastian stared down the barrel of the gun. He got up slowly, watched the boy scramble backwards until they were five feet apart. He raised his hands into the air, well and truly defeated.

“Go on,” he panted, Ciel getting to his feet. “Shoot me, heiress. Do it, if it means that much to you.”

The kid was trembling boot to braid now, tears still dripping down his face. His wrist shook, the gun unsteady. He wiped at his face with one hand, and pulled back the revolver in the other.

“I’ll do it, Bastian.”

Sebastian, with nothing else left to lose, stepped forward.

 _Crack_.

The bullet flew past Sebastian’s shoulder and sliced his bicep. The pain, too fast and too hot, didn’t register. He stared at his shirt sleeve, blood blossoming, and growled.

“You shot me,” he said, stunned.

He couldn’t hear his voice over the ringing of the gun. Ciel stood still, arm raised, pistol smoking. His mouth opened and he said nothing, just as startled as the hunter.

Sebastian stepped forward again.

He ran forward to grab the heir but Ciel moved first, forcing the burning pistol under his chin. He sobbed. Sebastian stopped, the floor of his stomach giving way.

“You ain't want to do that,” he said to the boy.

Ciel shook his head and it made the pistol nudge beneath the scar on his face, the barrel sitting flush against the beginning of the straight, pink line.

“Why not?” He said. “I’ve done it before. I won’t miss this time.”

The weight of realisation forced Sebastian to his knees. He felt like he’d been kicked in the chest. It knocked the air from his lungs. The pain shot out across his ribs and arms, his head, his bleeding heart.

“He ain’t worth it,” he told Ciel. “Don’t throw away your life for _him_.”

“I don’t have a life no more. N-not since that night.”

“Killing yourself ain’t gon’ make up for them killing your brother.”

“They didn’t kill him,” Ciel cried out. “I did! I shot him, right here!” He lifted the gun and pressed it between his eyes.

“I shot him, and then I shot myself - and not a day goes past when I don’t wish I’d died that night too.”

In that moment Sebastian realised what he must do.

He realised what Ciel's life would cost him. That he would forfeit the fortune, and in turn earn Ciel's formidable hatred.

But the heir was worth _everything_.

The kid lowered his gun, an indent between his brow, and stepped away from the hunter. He shook his head, finally quiet, and wiped the crystallised tears from his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a very soft voice. “I didn’t want it to be like this, Sebastian. I apologise.”

The kid looked back towards the canyon, and it became Sebastian's window of opportunity. The hunter stood, then he ran. He rushed towards the kid and threw his weight against his, knocking him into the sand and crushing his small body under him.

The air rushed from Ciel's lungs, a sound of pain. But before the kid could wriggle lose Sebastian grabbed his throat. He squeezed with all his strength. Ciel's squeal tapered off into a whine.

“Pass out,” Sebastian begged, mouth against Ciel's ear.

The kid’s hands went to his throat, his nails digging into Sebastian’s wrist. He tore gouges in his flesh, blood trickling down his wrist. The hunter couldn’t feel it, could only feel the hot adrenalin in his chest, the struggle of Ciel’s Adam's apple as he tried to suck in air.

“Pass out!” He demanded of him again, squeezing harder.

He watched as Ciel stopped breathing, his face white with horror. His lips paled, his frantic hands going still. His squirming stopped, his waist suckered in and his back pressed flush to Sebastian’s chest. The man could only hear his heartbeat, taste his blood on the air.

He sobbed in relief when the kid’s eye rolled back and Ciel finally fainted.

For a moment he just looked, the kid coiled up like a fawn, and caught his breath while the heir unconsciously caught his.

Then he took Ciel’s arm and bent it behind his back, gripping his bird-like wrist in his fist. He breathed in, feeling the boy’s pulse rabbit beneath his fingers. He could hear the horse’s panic, feel the spray of dirt as they trot past in anxious circles like they could read the hunter’s mind.

“Fuck,” Sebastian muttered, memorising how sweet the heir looked.

He ducked down and pressed a kiss to the soft of the boy’s cheek, released a mournful sound over his skin.

Then he yanked Ciel's arm back and twisted it up with all his strength. The shock made the kid wake up, his mouth stretching open in panic.

“S-stop!” He managed to shout.

But Sebastian didn’t stop.

He pulled harder until a loud, sick _snap_ rang out across the desert, followed by a piercing scream.

Sebastian shoved his hand over his mouth to stifle his noise. The kid’s face was twisted in agony, his arm bent at an ill angle, fingers limp.

He sucked in a terrible breath and jolted, screaming again into Sebastian’s glove, then choking. He threw up against the leather, the sound almost as nauseating as the snap Ciel’s arm had made when the hunter had broke it in two.

The boy drew his arm to his chest and curled in on it, sucking in desperate, shallow breaths, screaming like a wounded rabbit, all the hairs raised on Sebastian’s arms. The kid’s eye glassed over, his spine arching off the sand.

“No,” Ciel moaned, clutching his forearm. “No. _No_.”

Sebastian allowed himself to smooth back the loose strands of Ciel’s braid, the kid thrashing away from his touch. Ciel drew in another staggered breath before fainting again.

When Sebastian hoisted Ciel into his arms a glint of silver caught his eye. In the sand lay the heir’s crucifix. The hunter picked it up and jammed it into his pocket, hitching Ciel closer to his chest, broken arm cradled between the two of them.

It had been his worst fear - carrying Ciel’s limp body through the desert.

 _But at least he ain’t dead_ , Sebastian reminded himself.

It was a cold and bitter consolation.

………………………………………………………………………….

 

 

Agni woke with a start.

Something wasn’t right. He sat up and blinked until the blackness around him took the shape of his bedroom. Soma was a coil of warmth against his side, his hand splayed over the tense muscle of Agni’s abdomen. He reached down and found the younger’s fingers, threading them together.

“What’s wrong?” Whispered his husband, voice rough with sleep.

Agni combed dark hair away from Soma’s eyes, luminous as they blinked open, lashes like moths against his fingers. The boy stretched under the blankets, shuddering like a cat.

“I don’t know,” Agni replied.

He ducked down and kissed Soma on his sleepy mouth, savouring the familiarity. His husband sighed, pressing up into the kiss. When they broke apart they didn’t move away from one another, content to exchange more kisses with their eyelashes and their noses.

“Something doesn’t feel right, baby.”

Soma listened, and gave a little nod against Agni’s lips. His fingers threaded in his hair and scritched his nape, right where he knew his husband needed it the most. Agni melted into his touch, eyes closing. He kissed the boy again, wondering if it’d all just been a dream.

But then he heard it, a shout in the dark.

The sound came low and frightened, and dreadfully familiar.

………………………………………………………………………….

 

 

Agni remembered the night Sebastian had come home with a cut across his nose.

The twenty-year-old had woken at midnight to a scream, to the sound of the grass outside crushed beneath hooves. His dearest friend had collapsed on the porch, covered in blood, smaller and angrier than any sixteen-year-old should ever have been.

He’d made Sebastian promise he would never frighten him like that again.

Agni sobbed when he saw Ciel.

The boy was bundled in Sebastian’s arms, so quiet and so pale that he assumed the boy was dead. He ran out, bare foot, to meet them both, his heart lodged in his throat. It was only when he combed back the boy’s grey hair and saw his glassy, blinking eye, that he remembered to breathe again.

The boy was pellucid, and shaking, and his arm was cradled to his chest and bent awkwardly. He was sweating, his shirt soaked through, his scent thick with bile. He sobbed when Agni took his weight, his good arm folded carefully across the wounded.

“ _Oh,_ sunshine,” Agni cooed. “What happened?”

The boy’s lips moved but his voice was hoarse, barely a whisper.

“Sebastian,” Ciel mouthed.

Agni finally looked up at his best friend. The man was silent, standing like the tall grass, swaying as the wind blew right through him. His jaw was locked so tight the tendon jumped, his face wet with sweat and tears.

“I did it,” the bounty hunter said.

Behind him, Agni heard Soma come out onto the porch in time to hear Sebastian.

“What?”

His husband’s voice broke, from sleepy to alarmed. He hurried down the stairs and across the grass, taking one look at Ciel’s broken and trembling figure, and then swearing beneath his breath.

Agni could see his best friend was wounded. He bled from his nose, and his shirt sleeve was soaked in blood, ripped open on his bicep. His hands were scratched, his chest bleeding, too. He looked forlorn, but a bitterness boiled up inside of Agni.

He didn’t say a thing as he turned his back on Sebastian and took Ciel inside their home.

………………………………………………………………………….

 

 

Sebastian had half a bottle of lavender lemonade in his saddle.

He finished it in two gulps, residue dripping off his chin. He smeared it with his sleeve, stained pink. He grimaced at the sight of his bloody hand, the dull throb in his bicep sinking deeper into his chest, fuzzy on the edges when the liquor began to sink in too.

He could still hear Ciel screaming upstairs.

The horses had run off, spooked, flecks of black and white in the endless, rolling grass. The stars were out, the breeze fragrant, more lovely than the man deserved. 

Eventually the screams stopped.

Not long after the porch creaked, and the stair Sebastian sat on dipped, and Agni sat down by his side. Without raising his head the hunter could feel him burning holes into his skin.

“What did you do?” Agni asked.

The hunter shrugged. He had his fingers twisted in his hair, unable to lift his head. He didn’t need to see Agni’s expression of disappointment. He’d had his heart broken enough for one night.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

For a while neither of them spoke. The wind rustled all the blossoms twisted around Agni’s porch, illuminated by the moon. Eventually he looked up. Agni had his arms around his legs and he was staring at the field, his face unreadable.

“The man that we were hunting,” Sebastian said, “the one who killed h-his family. It’s my father. It was him, all this fucking time.”

Agni exhaled.

“Oh, _Sebastian_.”

“He was gon’ ride off all alone, go after him. He woulda killed him. I couldn't let him do that to me again."

To the hunter's humiliation he began to cry, hot and involuntary, bleeding down his cheeks. He hid his face, hanging his head between his knees again as his shoulders hitched. He sucked in air but he couldn’t breath, chest seizing, body shaking so much he thought he might keel over and die.

Agni’s kiss to the crown of his hair only made him cry harder.

He kept his head down, watched his tears drip against the crooked step and bleed into the wood. Agni splayed his hand over his back and rubbed him, and it only coaxed more tears out. He cried until he was empty, dried up and quiet, mouth tacky with salt.

“So,” Agni said at last. “Your daddy killed Ciel’s daddy.” He hummed. “Does Ciel know?”

Sebastian shook his head.

“Don’t tell him,” he said, lifting his head enough to look at the other man. “Please.”

“I won’t.”

Sebastian sat up a little and watched Rabbit wander off into the hills. The sight of the mare made him sad now. Everything did. He felt subdued, depressed.

When Soma joined them on the porch, Agni stood and pressed a kiss against his husband's terse mouth. Sebastian couldn't look away, an empty feeling in his gut when the men exchanged whispers, their identical rings bright in the full moon.

"I want to see him," Sebastian said, staring at Agni's wedding band.

Both men looked at each other, then Sebastian. Although Soma had softened, he shook his head.

"I'm not sure that it's a good idea."

Sebastian stood and pressed his tongue against his teeth. He felt drunk. He felt stupid, and alone.

"Please," he begged.

He'd said that word more times this evening than he had in his entire life.

"I ain't ever gon' see him again," he added, drowning in a cocktail of his self-loathing and self-pity.

The corner of Agni's mouth quirked up, the most polite of smiles. He gave his husband a look and Soma exhaled, and then he nodded. He turned and went back in the house, and Sebastian followed like a dog.

Upstairs smelt sickly sweet, like liquor and like bile.

Ciel was laying in the bed beneath the open window, his shirt removed, his forearm wrapped in white. When he breathed in his navel sank and his ribs showed. Sebastian watched from the doorway, already intimidated by how lovely the heir looked.

But as he came closer he saw the blossoming bruises around his throat, and his own blood caked beneath Ciel's nails.

"He's real drunk," Soma said to him, voice lowered. "For the pain."

 The boy turned towards the sound, skin a bewitching colour under lantern light. His hair was loose, pooled out under his head. His eyepatch had been removed, and when the kid blinked the hunter inhaled at his glassy, mismatched eyes.

"Ciel."

The boy frowned at him. His cheeks were pink with liquor. He tried to sit up but his body protested. A soft sound escaped his lips as his face screwed up in pain.

"Get out," the boy whispered.

Sebastian's heart hardened. He didn't move. He reached out to touch the heir, as they had always touched, but was pushed away by clammy fingers.

"Get out," Ciel said again, louder.

His voice sounded like sand, hoarse and crumbling, his throat crushed under Sebastian's own hand. New tears began to fall from the boy, the drunkness blinked right from his eyes and replaced with rage.

"Please, Ciel."

Ciel shook his head. He began to shake. He sat up on the bed and Soma rushed forward, trying to press him back onto the mattress. 

"I ain't never want to see you again, dog."

Ciel's words stabbed Sebastian in the stomach. He could feel it, everything inside him cut in half.

"Get out!" Ciel shouted this time, straining against Soma's hands. "I hate you. I _hate_ you! I never want to see you again!"

The look on Ciel's face was the most devastating thing the hunter had seen in all his life. It took all his might not to be sick, or to scream back, or to fall down on the floor.

He fled instead.

His shoulder smacked into Agni's as he left the room. He heard his best friend call out, chase him down the stairs. Ciel was still screaming, or perhaps Sebastian could not remove what he had heard from inside his head.

 _I hate you_.

He could never think of Ciel without hearing that. Without seeing how much he meant it, his beautiful face destroyed with wrath.

"Sebastian!"

Agni caught him as he burst out the door. His grip was bruising, his friend alarmed. Sebastian didn't want to see him. He couldn't.

"Don't let him leave here," he told Agni.

When the man didn't reply, he begged.

"Please. _Please_. Don't let him go. Keep him safe."

He didn't wait for Agni to reply. He stormed out into the night, out for the hills, towards the shadow that was his stallion. He ran after him and didn't stop, his heartbeat in his ears.

 _I hate you_.

By the time he caught his horse the farmhouse was a little candle in the hills. He mounted his stallion and made off for the west. As he went he passed by Rabbit. The mare took a few steps after Sebastian, swishing her tail in confusion.

"Go!" He shouted at her.

He turned his back on Rabbit. He turned his back on the house. He broke Diablo into a run and he rode until he tired, until his heart could take no more.

In the early hours of that morning, when the fog settled on the hills, Sebastian found Ciel's crucifix inside his pocket.

He held the silver necklace in his palm. He lifted it to his mouth and held it there against his lips.

He put it back in his pocket because it hurt too much to look at.

It was the most he'd see of Ciel for another seven months.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me >:)
> 
> Come talk to me on Tumblr (bun-o-ween), and don't forget to kudos if you'd like another quick update! 😁


	20. Virgin River

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! After my twenty-four day break, wow. Here it is, the chapter you've so patiently earned. I hope you guys enjoy it - and if you'd like to see quick updates please leave me a kudos and a comment! 
> 
> Also, because someone complained about this last time, there's some sexual stuff between Ciel/Agni/Soma. It's not hardcore or anything but... It's not fluff either. So if you're not into that... I dunno man, close your eyes... or something...
> 
> Hope you enjoy! 😁

 

 

 

**PART THREE**

 

 

 

 

**July, 1876**

 

Ciel woke with a throb.

The morning was warm. The windows were open, dawn breeze dancing in the curtains, already a prickle of sweat gathered on the boy's nape. His eyelashes were heavy in the heat, throat catching as he breathed.

When he turned his head he was met with sheets that smelt of lemongrass and the sight of the sun rising over the meadow. He watched the grass shake through the bottles on the windowsill, their colours turned tender with time.

If it wasn’t for the throb that rippled up his spine and down his limbs, Ciel might have fancied that he’d died, and this is what the afterlife looked like.

He turned his head the other way and was met by a sight lovelier than the sunrise. His chest swelled when he met Soma's eyes, the man perched on the mattress beside the heir, cradling his hand inside his own.

“Hey there,” Soma said, voice gentle like his eyes. “Good morning, pretty boy.”

Ciel's heart fluttered at the praise. Soma smiled, then tucked back his plum-black hair, revealing the shadows beneath his eyes. The heir's rejoice faltered, his sight lowering to his hand, Soma dabbing at his fingers with a wet cloth.

 _Blood_ , Ciel realised.

Soma was cleaning blood out from beneath Ciel's nails.

Thick, dried blood, dripping pink when water met the caked gore, dribbling out from between his fingers. The red startled the heir, his chapped mouth stinging as he opened it to speak.

“What ha- _hap_ -”

Ciel’s words felt like sand forcing their way out his throat. He sealed his lips shut and swallowed, a pained sob caught inside him. It hurt, ached just like the insistent throb he'd woken up with.

“Don’t try to speak,” Soma warned, his tone betraying his soft stare.

Ciel raised his hand to touch his throat but was met by only more pain. He couldn’t contain the tortured cry that tore through his lips. The throb crescendoed into a stabbing pang, shooting up his right arm into his fingers, seeping into his chest as he seized up in agony.

Ciel stared in horror at his arm, swathed so thickly in bandage that it tripled in width. The throbbing reached his head, made him cry out each time he sucked in air. Memories rushed into the cavity of his chest, swelling over him like a wave, pinning him to the mattress.

The _crack_ of his arm.

The sound echoing across the desert. The jolt of pain.

The smell of Sebastian. His sweat, sharp with fear. His hands, his mouth.

The thunder of horse’s hooves against dirt. The taste of bile on his tongue. The betrayal, gnawing away at the boy’s stomach until there was just a pit.

“Agni!”

Soma's voice was far away, lost beneath Ciel’s crashing waves. He couldn’t look away from his arm, the pristine bandage, the white flag of surrender – how he'd been betrayed by the only man he truly trusted, the one man that he –

“ _Agni!_ ”

Ciel could feel in great detail the way his heart turned itself inside out. The muscle thinned and tore, the sinews popping open as his heart emptied itself out, spewed sorrow into his chest so thick the boy could only sob as he suffocated in it, writhing on the sheets.

“It h-hurts,” he managed, his voice rough and unattached to him. “It hurts. It _hurts_.”

Soma pressed his palm against his head, his voice brittle with panic.

“Where does it hurt?”

Agni's weight joined them on the mattress, his long hair tied back tight, the morning light violent on his cheekbone. Ciel gestured to his chest with his left hand, fingers splayed across his breast.

It hurt there most tremendously, the quivering knot of muscle in his chest, cracked open like a vase dropped to the floor, spilling water out the thousands of fissures, bleeding through his ribs.

Agni leaned over him, his eyes sharp and silver like the needle he held in his hand. Ciel was too upset to feel the prick, too concerned with drawing shallow, mournful gasps into his chest, past his throat which he recalled now, had been crushed under Sebastian’s hand.

He only felt the needle once it left his arm, the cool medicine crawling under his skin like spiders. The man above him smoothed his hair down, the smile on his cheek laced with concern. Soma bent down too, his hands splayed over every part of Ciel that Agni couldn’t touch, until the boy was touched all over, cradled by his friends.

The pain ebbed from Ciel’s body like smoke.

When the heir breathed in he was met with a wave of euphoria. It stole his breath away. It made him press his cheek into the dulcet pillowcase and relax against the hands that loved him.

Soma said something, but it was far away. Ciel could not understand it, only watch his lips as they sounded out the words, flit his eye between the pretty man and his equally handsome husband.

Ciel was not aware of how wide his pupil blackened, or of the slack-jawed sleepiness that arrested his fair face. He was only aware of the lack of pain inside his body, and the lack of sadness.

The lack of any emotion, what-so-ever.

………………………………………………………………………………………….

 

 

Sebastian reached the canyon before sun set.

He was not surprised to see it empty, his father vanished into thin air, leaving nothing but the cold and scattered ashes of his campfire.

Sebastian sat on the edge of the canyon and didn’t move for hours. Addison’s absence possessed him, it pinned him to the earth. He watched the sun shift over the abyss, brilliant orange, bleeding red. It stretched out into dull purples, and soon it became night.

Sebastian watched the stars emerge, one by one. He watched the summer moon rise too, the hours ebbing by as he settled in the dirt. He was reluctant to get up because he knew that if he did he would be forced to reckon with the fact that he’d lost _everything_ in the span of a few hours.

He felt nothing.

His chest was void of emotion, his tears dried on his face. The hunter shrugged his jacket off, the night air as arid as the day, and thumbed at the stinging lines that Ciel had carved into his chest. The bullet wound on his bicep was sticky with blood and he poked at that too, as if it might inspire his emotions to ignite.

But there was only pain, and the first night he spent away from Ciel was eerily silent.

He took his rifle off his shoulder and he aimed it at the quiet and empty canyon. When he fired the _bang_ pierced the air, echoed over lilac desert and conjured all the crickets from the sand. He was thankful for the noise of it, the ringing in his ears, that drowned out all the thoughts that started with _what if_.

He emptied out his bullets, one by one, until his shoulder ached from the kick. He shot until had nothing more to shoot, and then he shot some more, the hollow _clicks_ of the empty chamber taking place as his distraction.

When he had no more bullets, Sebastian cried out into the lonely night.

He hoped Addison would hear his scream. That the man would crawl out of the night like the dog he was, and Sebastian would finally be face-to-face with the man that ruined his life. That he could live out the fantasy he’d spent a decade constructing - his heel crushed down into his daddy’s skull, his blood under his boot.

He’d give him one stomp for his dead rabbit, and then another for his mamá. The last stomp, the killing blow, would be for Ciel - for stealing him away.

In the silence, Sebastian found himself laughing. It ached, his stinging chest, his wounded arm. His throat was raw from screaming, the bitter sound little more than a huff.

His daddy didn’t take Ciel away from him. It was him. There was no one left to blame.

“I really am just like him,” Sebastian grit, his rifle in his lap.

He aimed the barrel up to his jaw and rest his chin over the top. He pulled the trigger and it _clicked_ , as empty as his chest. He laughed again, dropping the gun down to the sand. He knew the gun was empty, but the hunter had just wanted, for a moment, to get a taste of what he truly deserved.

Diablo flicked his ears forward, but he paid his master no attention. After a decade of riding together, the horse was deaf to Sebastian’s melancholy.

………………………………………………………………………….

 

 

At the end of the bathtub was a mirror.

Ciel’s head lulled to the side as he caught his reflection in the mottled glass, his fingers slipping from the porcelain lip of the tub. He blinked, both eyes exposed, as Soma massaged soap suds through his hair.

He had not looked at his unmasked reflection in almost a year, and Ciel didn’t recognise himself. The baby fat from his cheeks was gone. His jaw, sharper. He was beginning to look more like his father and less like his brother - who would remain perpetually seventeen, suspended in ageless death.

Ciel traced his fingers over the ring of berry-black bruises on his throat. His nail caught his clavicle, naked of the crucifix he’d lost in the desert. The other rest against his chest, thick with bandage, throbbing dully as the morphine ebbed out of Ciel’s bloodstream.

“You got rather handsome while you were gone,” Soma commented, glancing up from his soap-slick hands.

Ciel caught his eyes in the mirror and swallowed, his throat painfully tight. He must have blushed, for Soma gave a little laugh and worked the lather through the wispy strands of Ciel’s fringe.

“I mean it. You look…” he trailed off, smiling. “ _Roguish_. If I were you, I wouldn’t wear the patch.”

Ciel looked down at his knees, breaking the surface of the water like pale islands.

“But you aren’t me,” he croaked.

He could still feel the morphine in the back of his head. It’s fingers toyed with his mind, his lashes falling heavy to his cheek. It’s hold on him ebbed away, his arm aching harder by the minute. He hugged the bandaged limb against his chest and bit back his whimper, his knees drawn to his chest.

Ciel assumed he’d known how rock bottom felt the day his brother died.

That there was no feeling worse than knowing his twin was gone, and he the one who killed him. To wake up in a strange house, his family dead, arising from a comatose so deep he’d missed all three of his beloved’s funerals.

But the teenager heir, he realised now, had been arrogant in assuming things could not be worse for him. The death of his family could not compare to the brittle misery he weathered now - the cold and heavy pit inside his gut, the graveyard for the flicker of hope his hunter lit inside his gut.

His brother was dead. Addison was alive.

And, guiltily enough, the thing that clawed at Ciel the deepest was that he’d lost the man who’d broke him, too.

The heir closed his eyes when a swell of tears threatened to drip down his cheeks. He pressed his lips into a hard line but they quivered, his heart still raw and aching, a constant, agonising ache just like the snapped bone in his arm.

“I hate him,” Ciel blurted, one hot tear slipping down his cheek.

Then another, and another. Soma exhaled against his head, his fingers stilling in his hair.

“Ciel.”

“I hate him, with all my heart. We were _so_ close to catching Addison,” Ciel sobbed, his voice sounding as wrecked as he felt inside. “I don’t understand why he did this to me. I d-don’t…”

He trailed off, out of breath. He sucked in air, shoulders shaking and rippling the bathwater. Soma’s hands came from his hair and smoothed against his back.

“He made a fool of me,” Ciel cried.

Lips pressed to the crown of his head. A hand curled around his bandaged arm, keeping it from the water. The wave of affection made Ciel feel like he was drowning, his chest wide open, undeserving of the patient, tender way the older man kissed his bowed head.

“H-how could I have thought-”

Ciel stopped and forced himself to swallow past the swelling in his throat. He could feel Soma’s wedding ring, a cool kiss to his shoulder. It made his stomach knot, a fresh wave of tears spill from his lashes and land amongst the bathwater.

“A man like him,” he stammered, head tipped back onto Soma’s chest as he cried his heart and soul out. “How could I have thought t-that he _felt_ for me.”

Soma didn’t breathe a word, his lips pressed to the shell of his best friend’s ear. He held him as he shook, absorbed his aching and his tears, but he didn’t say a thing.

Ciel cried until he had nothing left to cry. He cried until Agni came and put a needle in his arm. He cried until the morphine took the pain away from him.

And then he cried a little more.

………………………………………………………………………….

 

**August**

 

Sebastian squeezed the silver cross around his throat.

The air smelt like smoke and blood, a miasma of death clinging to charred buildings. His daddy’s poster fluttered in the sand, his eyes sharp on the crumpled paper, following Sebastian as he rode through the burnt town.

He left no trail but the ashes, an indiscriminate hate that spread the deeper South the hunter rode. He passed through forests and through deserts, across dirt still warm from the thunder of fast horses. He rode until Diablo stopped, the stallion frothing white with sweat.

The wound on Sebastian’s bicep healed, leaving a nasty, little scar. It throbbed when the sun fell, the desert cold and biting into his bullied flesh. It forced Sebastian to ride harder, to appease the mounting tension in his gut.

He was no longer driven by revenge - but something stronger. Fear.

Fear that his daddy would not be found. Fear that Addison would ride forever, and ruin countless lives alongside Sebastian’s and the Phantomhive’s.

Fear that Addison would come for Ciel the moment he left Calliope. That he would put his hands on the heir’s pale flesh, that he would burn him like the towns Sebastian rode through, leaving nothing but a charred and crumbling skeleton.

Sebastian gave another squeeze to the cross around his throat and he rode on into the night, swallowing the fear into the pit of his tight stomach.

………………………………………………………………………….

 

 

Soma dropped a chunk of strawberry into Berry’s mouth.

The three-legged fox gnashed at the flesh with her pin-prick teeth and Soma hummed, fishing out another cube to feed to the black cat, Juniper.

The afternoon light made the turquoise tiles of the kitchen glimmer and a soft breeze rustled through the wind chimes. Soma’s hair was tied up off his neck, his trousers rolled under his knees. His spread his toes against the cool kitchen tiles and exhaled, dropping another bite of strawberry to the hungry mouths beneath him.

Outside he heard the rumble of hooves, not long after the front door opened and closed. Soma smelt his husband before he saw him, the sweat of a man who had rode since dawn under the summer sun, a smell that had Soma wrinkle up his nose and melt with pleasure at the same time.

“He wasn’t there,” said Agni as he came into the kitchen.

Soma’s shoulders fell, he sighed. He picked up a berry for himself and sucked it between his teeth, closing his eyes when his husband splayed a hand between his shoulders.

“Looked like he hadn’t been back at all,” the man said, playing with the notch on Soma’s spine. “Plants were overgrown, Diablo’s feed was all untouched. I’d say he hasn’t been home since they met.”

When the boy looked up at his husband, his face looked as weary as his voice implied. His gaze was dull, his expression sullen. He quirked up the corner of his mouth but the smile didn’t reach his eyes, his broad shoulders squared with discontent.

“Dammit,” Soma swore, leaning his head against the standing man’s stomach. “Ciel’s been crying his name for weeks. I don’t know what else to do.”

Agni’s fingers found their way under Soma’s neck, tilting his head back so he could stroke him like a cat. The younger sighed and closed his eyes, rough fingertips on his collarbone, a thumb against his lips. He trembled under the touch of his beloved, skin yearning for a passion he hadn’t felt in a whole month.

“He didn’t eat?” Agni asked.

Soma didn’t open his eyes when he shook his head. “No, baby.”

He felt Agni go tense, his tender hand tighten where it sat against his jaw. The man’s belly sunk with a deep exhale.

“He won’t touch a damn thing I make for him,” he grit, letting go of Soma. “He’s skinny as a rail.”

Soma nodded, plucking another strawberry from the bowl of fruit Ciel didn’t eat. He dropped it to Juniper, coiled patiently between his bare ankles.

“What about the morphine?”

Soma swallowed and squished a berry between his thumb and forefinger.

“I didn’t give it to him.”

‘Why not?” Agni snapped.

His loud voice startled the cat, made her and Berry disappear beneath the table with their ears flattened to their heads. Soma’s heart skipped a beat, his stomach knotting at the unfamiliar sound of his husband’s anger.

“Don’t yell at me,” Soma hissed, standing up and placing the bowl down on the table. “It ain’t good for him, that’s why.”

Agni didn’t look at him, his heated glare aimed at the tiles over Soma’s head. He crossed his arms over his chest, shirt soaked through with sweat.

“All he ever does is cry about the pain,” Agni muttered. “I’m helping him,” he added, in a softer voice.

Soma curled his arms around his waist, dropping his head so he would not see the disappointed narrow of his husbands’s eyes.

“It’s not his arm,” he said to Agni. “It’s his heart, baby. It’s broken.”

Agni sat down on the table top, dropping his head into his hands. When he spoke again his voice was rough, his words laced with fatigue.

“I don’t know how to help with that.”

“There ain’t nothing _you_ can do,” Soma said. “Nothing neither of us can do.”

He hugged his sides to bite back the tears he felt inside him. His husband remained bowed over the table, his hair masking his face from view. When he finally looked up his expression was blank, his voice just as dead as the colour in his eyes.

“I’m going to take a bath,” he said.

Agni stood and brushed past Soma, pausing to drop a lingering kiss onto the top of the man’s head. Then he was gone, heading up the stairs and leaving Soma with the uneaten fruit. The boy glanced up towards the ceiling, then he picked up the bowl and went upstairs too.

Ciel’s bedroom smelt like morphine. The boy was recumbent on the bed, staring out the window as he always did. When he breathed in Soma could see his ribs, his wrists so thin they looked like twigs. He didn’t blink when the boy crawled onto his bed, the bowl of strawberries placed down beside his hair.

“Eat,” Soma said.

The boy blinked, his chest hiccuping. His cheek was crystallised with tears, his lips pale as his skin. Soma picked up half a strawberry and pressed it to his bloodless lips.

“Eat it,” he said again.

Ciel looked away and shook his head, his eye already laced with tears.

“No,” he mouthed.

Soma grabbed Ciel’s doll-like face with one hand, squeezing his thumb and pointer finger into his sunken cheeks. He clenched until the boy sucked in a startled breath, his lips parting, and he shoved the berry past his teeth. Ciel jolted, too weak to sit up, and Soma stuck two fingers in his mouth and stuffed the sweet flesh down his throat.

Ciel’s throat clamped around Soma’s fingers, the boys eyes wide and frightened. He choked, and then he reluctantly swallowed, and Soma withdrew his sticky hand.

“Ciel,” Soma grit, “I love you, I truly do. But you’re worrying my husband and I can’t have that.”

He stuffed another strawberry past Ciel’s lips and wormed it down his throat, splaying his free hand on the boy’s chest when he tried to revolt. This time the boy sobbed, his legs kicking the sheets down his bare legs, his crying muffled and confused around tan fingers.

Soma didn’t bother to ask nicely again. He picked the berries from the bowl and pushed them down Ciel’s throat until the boy quit struggling. His face was wet with tears, his hair messy from his thrashing. But the bowl was soon emptied, and Soma appeased, and he fell back against the sheets beside the boy.

Ciel sucked in a deep breath, pawing at his mouth. He started to cry, his resolve shattered by the morphine still riddled in his blood. Soma sought out his small hand and he laced their fingers together, smoothing his thumb across sharp knuckles.

“I’m sorry,” he said, turning his head so he could look at Ciel.

The boy shook his head, bandaged arm pressed across his chest, and wriggled closer to his friend. He pressed his face into his throat and he cried there, eyes wet and mouth slick from strawberry juice.

“ _I’m_ sorry,” he said back to him, voice muffled against skin. “M’sorry.”

Soma closed his eyes and curled his fingers into the back of Ciel’s hair, cradling his skull within his palm. He kept him pinned there, crying against his chest, the nauseating scent of medicine lacing every item in the room. Later, Soma would get up and wash the bedsheets, and put fresh flowers by the bedside.

But for now he lay there, eyes shut and chest rising under the frail weight of his friend. He let himself drift off to sleep, the walls rattling around them as the pipes shook, filling the bath at the end of the hall.

………………………………………………………………………….

 

**September**

 

Sebastian hadn’t shaved in months.

He rubbed his fingers through the scruff on his jaw, eyes locked on the book in his hand. He leaned closer to the fire, shadows dancing across the page. Diablo grazed off to the left of him, ears flicking back occasionally as the bounty hunter read.

Weeks of dirt clung to Sebastian’s skin. His hair was dark and sweaty, his brow damp and shirt clinging to his skin. He’d grown numb to the discomfort, everything but the all-consuming need to track his father down taking second place.

The only thing not grubby with weeks of travel was the necklace on Sebastian’s throat, the silver polished by his glove each time he reached up and toyed with it. He played with it as he turned the page of his book, not looking up from the words when the wind rustled his fire.

If he concentrated on the book he might ignore that in two months of travel he’d found no trace of his father. If he read, he could ignore that he would never be with Ciel again.

The wind blew and flapped the fragile pages of his book, air curling in the fire and making the flames jump. Sebastian glanced up to watch the embers drift into the sky and fade out like dying stars. He listened to the wind as it passed through the crumbling canyon walls and whispered through the grass.

He could hear the last thing Ciel said to him, his throat tight as he finished his cold coffee.

………………………………………………………………………….

 

 

Ciel held a glass of sweet tea in one hand, a duckling in the other.

He placed the tuft of sunshine down in a wicker basket with it's brothers, shooing away the fox who’d wandered over to exam what the heir was doing. Ciel took a sip of tea, the taste thick with peaches and nostalgia, and placed another duckling in the basket.

It wasn’t a real job, just a distraction. Something silly Agni had come up with to make Ciel feel useful. But the summer day was beautiful, the grass warm where Ciel pushed his bare toes into the dirt, the sun hot on his skin.

He could hear Soma’s laughter in the distance, the sound of his feet against the earth, chasing after a young goat who’d broken free of the new fence they’d built.

“He ain’t ever gonna catch it,” Agni said, leaning on the railing behind Ciel.

The heir picked up another duck, swatting Berry across her buttery nose. He turned the little bird round in his hand, inspecting it for damage like Agni had said he should. The duck was healthy, its black eyes bright and beady, feet pressing to the muscle of his hand. Ciel put it down in the basket with the others, glancing up at the older man.

“It was that damned fence,” Ciel said, hiding his smirk behind the lip of his sweet tea. “Crooked as a fish hook. You should have hired a professional.”

He turned back to watch Soma sprint over to the peach orchard, followed by a frantic _bleat_. Agni made a happy noise, low and sub-vocal in his chest.

“I’m a plenty competent carpenter,” Agni complained, his serious expression splitting as Soma ran by them again, evidence to the contrary.

Ciel shook his head, picking up the basket full of ducks and moving it away from the encroaching fox. He cupped it with his good arm, his bandaged wrist unable to make a fist around the wicker.

“Besides,” the man continued, “taking in all these charming creatures don’t exactly afford the means to hire a _professional_.”

Ciel sat the ducklings inside and then sat back on the step, knees hugged to his chest as he soaked up the sun.

“You know money wouldn’t be a problem,” Ciel said to him, “if you just asked me for a little.”

Agni clicked his teeth, the same sound he made each time the heir offered to pay for anything. The food he ate, the time he stole. Even a properly constructed fence – all refused by the honorable man.

“We make do, sunshine.”

Ciel twitched his nose and watched as Soma slowed to a crawl, hunched over with his hands pressed to his knees. He was exhausted and goat-less, his black hair loose and wild.

“If you say so,” Ciel sighed, unable to bite back his smile.

Soma sat down in the grass, unable to chase no longer. He swore, his voice carrying across the breeze. It made the heir giggle, the sound surprising him.

He hadn't laughed in so long that the noise felt foreign on his tongue. As soon as he tasted it, it melted to ashes. His stomach sunk with guilt and Ciel covered his betraying mouth.

The day was lovely, the company even more so. Ciel had forgotten for a moment why he'd come here, had forgotten of his past and been swept up in the pretty moment – careless as the fragrant blossoms.

But when he remembered he came sinking back down to the earth, his black heart hidden behind the hard cage of his chest.

………………………………………………………………………….

 

**October**

 

The first snow came on Sebastian’s birthday.

The bounty hunter paused along the trail he walked, leading Diablo by his reins, and looked up at the sky. Through the towering branches of pale pine needles he saw it - flecks of snow, raining down on him like fairy rain. His breath hitched as they met his skin, Diablo shaking his thick mane to rid him of the sting.

“It’s snowing,” he whispered, his breath a cloud of condensation.

Diablo didn’t answer, readjusting his weight against the frigid earth, crushing the dead needles with his hooves. Sebastian closed his eyes and let the snow hit, painful when it fell along the scar across his nose.

Sometime in the night he’d turned twenty-six, but the thought brought him no joy. His birthday only signified another year lost, twelves moons to add to all the years he failed to find his father.

The man stood still for so long that his stallion snuffed at his neck. Sebastian opened his eyes, still staring up, and released another cloudy breath.

The summer had died without him noticing, the autumn’s kiss upon his back. The snow fell to the ground and sunk into it, a soft and tender thing amongst the brittle, dying needles.

………………………………………………………………………….

 

Sebastian lived along the Virgin River, his house in a copse of cottonwood trees.

It was dawn when he and Diablo rounded the hill that overlooked his home, the wildflowers shaking as the morning fog lifted from the earth. The stallion nickered, a sound that matched the deep breath Sebastian gave at the sight of his small house.

The grass had grown tall around the property, the flowers overgrown and wrapped around the porch. Sebastian practically fell from Diablo, relieving him of his saddle before staggering up the steps to his front door. Diablo took off to the pasture and Sebastian fumbled with a key he hadn’t used in almost a year.

Inside, the house was as quiet as it were dusty.

The plants had withered and died where Sebastian had gathered them in old jars, lining the kitchen windows and the rickety old table by the wall. One by one he edged the windows open, fresh air breathed into the little house. The largest door, the one that faced the river, came free with a loud groan, sliding along the length of the wall to reveal the pinkish river.

Sebastian toed out of his boots inside his bedroom, heart hurting with how good it felt to be inside it. The room wasn’t fancy by any means – but it was his, and sure beat sleeping in the frost.

The pale sheets of his bed were splashed with terracotta, a stitched blanket his mother had made, weaved orange and blue, muted with time.

An upturned apple crate served as a bedside table, wax-littered lantern on top, a speckled bowl and a clay figurine in the shape of a horse, a gift from Soma, sat beside it.

In the bowl was the rattler of a sidewinder, the skull of a desert mouse, and the fragile shell of an egg he'd found beneath the trees on the riverbank.

All little gifts that Sebastian had collected from dead things – and as he undressed, leaving his clothes crumpled on the floorboards, he dropped Ciel’s necklace into the bowl without thinking.

Naked, Sebastian stood and stared into the bowl, the silver cross odd against the organic collection. He exhaled, that pleasant feeling in his chest overridden by a sea he'd kept at bay for months.

When he fished the necklace out from the bowl his wall crumbled and broke away – and in the loneliness of Sebastian’s bedroom, he crumbled and broke too.

Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe. His house was too empty, the air thin. The silence rung between his ears, hurt his head. He couldn’t suck in air, only stagger lamely out the door and to the porch that looked over the river, pupils contracting where the sun glinted off the water.

The river was covered in mist, like his own breath, clouds rising up into the sky. Sebastian heaved, his chest sore with sadness, so overbearing he gripped the railing so he wouldn’t sink down to his knees. He squeezed the necklace in his fist, the chain burning his palm.

Then he threw it, hard as he could, out into the Virgin River.

It disappeared with a _plop_.

“Shit,” Sebastian muttered. “Fuck.”

He regretted it the moment he saw the necklace sink. Without a stitch of clothing he threw himself over the railing, running barefoot in the grass towards the ice-cold river, wading in with a shout, the cold stabbing its sharp fingers in his gut.

He fanned his hands along the slippery rocks, panting as he crawling through the biting water, desperate until he found the cross against the bank, clutching it into his hand until he sobbed in shock.

The man sat down in the water, the surface coming to his chest, and welcomed the way it hurt him, weeks worth of dirt washing from his skin.

He couldn’t stop the tears, the way they rushed forward and made him shake. He'd held them back for three months and to no avail – they hurt as badly now as they did when he had cried them on Agni's step.

………………………………………………………………………….

 

**November**

 

Agni found the boy out in the meadows.

The ricochet of his bullet echoed up the apricot rock face, rippled over the gold-kissed grass. The sun was setting on the farmland, the heir’s shadow long against the hill. The boy raised his arm and shot again, missing the bottle balanced on a fence post, as Agni strode towards him.

Ciel shot again and Agni stopped, watching the heir recoil from the blast. A mighty tremble crawled up his spine, the boy reduced to shivers as he dropped his arm, pressed his face into the heel of his hand. He flinched when Agni touched him, laying his hand across his skinny back.

“You shouldn’t be shooting,” he told the boy. “Not with your arm like that.”

Ciel kept his face pressed against his hand, his shoulders rounded, voice terse when he spoke.

“It’s fine.”

Agni reached out and took the pistol from Ciel’s shaking hand. He examined the skin, pale where they’d finally removed the bandage just one week ago. The limb was still frail, but undamaged, Agni splaying out his fingers to take stock of the arm he’d healed from scratch.

“It ain’t gonna be fine if you keep shooting with it,” he warned. “You’ll undo all of my hard work.”

Ciel swallowed, flicking his eye down to the grass.

“It's not that I’m ungrateful,” the boy said, wiping at his face. “I’m not, Agni. But I can’t sit idle while Addison is out there.”

“I know, sunshine.”

He kissed Ciel’s knuckles and released a sigh.

“Winter ain’t far away,” Agni reminded him. “You ought stay here while it snows over, at least.”

Ciel looked away toward the setting sun, his eyes locked on something Agni couldn’t see.

“And, Rabbit’s with foal.”

Ciel’s little hand tense.

“She ain’t.”

Agni watched as Ciel turned, his face livid, the colour returned to his cheeks. A fire he thought had died out had returned now - simmering behind that big, blue eye.

“She only started to show recently,” Agni said. “She’s due in spring.”

Ciel said nothing, his jaw locked. He looked away from the man, back to the sun, and stalked towards it, his fists coiled at his side. Then he sat dow amongst the grass, so small it almost came up above his head.

“It ain’t good enough he ruined me,” he muttered when Agni sat down beside him, “but he had to ruin my mare too?”

The kid glared into the fading sun, his face magnificent in its rage. He puffed up, then deflated, the glaring sun no match for the Phantomhive heir's temperament.

Agni knew he couldn’t offer anything of value but his presence, someone to sit beside Ciel as he sifted through his heartache, his young soul riff with hurt. Agni reached out and found his hand again, soothing his thumb over small knuckles. It coaxed a tear from Ciel, and then another. Soon the boy was sobbing, his proud anger melted into youthful sobs.

“Did he say anything to you before he went?” Ciel asked after some time, his face screwed up in pain.

Agni could see how badly he tried to bite it back, to act as if his heart wasn’t cleaved in two. Agni hummed, plucking free the long grass with his spare hand.

“He asked me to keep you safe.”

Ciel made a noise the man assumed should have been a scoff, but it came out sad instead. The boy wiped away the evidence of his weakness, staring blindly at the sun.

“Safe,” he echoed, his nose screwed up. “I thought, at first, he would come back.”

Agni's chest clenched. “I thought that too.”

Ciel began to whimper again, his wound ripped anew. Agni watched the tears come down, helpless to do anything but watch as the boy came apart.

“I also thought…” Ciel trailed off, then sucked in a sticky breath. “I thought that I l-loved him.”

When he finally looked at Agni his eye was glassy, his lip wobbling in effort to keep his mouth sealed. But then he sobbed, the sound so sorrowful it stabbed into Agni's own heart. The sunshine caught against the tears on Ciel's young and broken face, and the sunlight pale in response to the fair thing crying in it’s glow.

“Do you still feel like that?” Agni asked very quietly.

Ciel shook his head. “I feel like I never want to feel anything again.”

Agni thought of the day he’d found Sebastian, just a kid – like Ciel looked now. He was curled up in the field not far from his hone, sunburnt and confused. When he told Agni that his mother was gone, the older boy had seen a light leave the young boy's face.

He hadn’t seen Sebastian smile since, or laugh without malice. The man became a ghost of his former self, a vessel of revenge, fixated so throughly on killing that it became the air he breathed.

Agni watched now as Ciel became this too, the reflection of his best friend - history repeating itself as the sun set on the field.

………………………………………………………………………….

 

**December**

 

For his nineteenth birthday Soma made Ciel a set of lingerie.

They were oxblood red, complimentary to his milk white skin. Agni couldn’t take his eyes off him, the way the silk hugged at his soft flesh, glimpsed beneath his matching gown. A twin set to Soma’s ivory pair, berries and cream, skimpy in a way that set Agni’s soul alight.

He burned his hand three times as he struggled to focus on cooking dinner - his husband and his house guest braiding one another’s hair.

He made a meal fit for a king, or for two princes - a plethora of wild berries, of breads and preserves and honey, sweet things baked with milk and butter.

They ate until they were drowsy with it, and drank the fragrant cider Agni brewed to compliment the feast.

“Boys,” Agni warned when he watched the boys grow restless, their lips curling into something that made the grown man restless.

Soma looked at him from beneath his eyelashes, his mouth fixed in a devious curl. His lips were swollen to match Ciel’s, berry red from the plethora of fruit between the three of them, or perhaps from the wet kisses they had shared.

The heir, the birthday boy, was calm with liquor, the sheer sleeve of his gown slipping off one shoulder as he plucked a raspberry from the table, pushing it between Soma’s kiss-plush lips. Soma chased after it with a kiss, looking just as devilish as Ciel.

“Sirens,” Agni murmured, leaning back into his chair.

His husband ignored him in favour of Ciel’s mouth, eating the delighted noise (and the raspberry) from his tongue. His warm hands slipped under Ciel’s gown and revealed the scarlet straps of his new gift, hugged tight around a milk white chest.

“Happy birthday,” Soma breathed when he pulled back, his lips sticky with Ciel’s spit.

The heir smiled, a real smile. Rare, something Agni could appreciate better if he wasn’t halfway drunk, or painfully aroused.

Ciel smothered a laugh into Soma’s neck, trailing his petal-pink tongue up the column of his throat, hands greedy on his bare legs. The kitchen was humid from the fire, the hairs on Soma’s neck flattened with a prickle of sweat. Agni shifted in his seat, watching Ciel smooth his fingers over the swell of his husband's ass cheek.

Soma leaned into the nineteen-year-olds ear and fed him something hushed, a whisper that made the boy’s pupil widen. He nodded and he rose, and then he was rounding the table to come to Agni.

When Ciel approaches Agni, his eye black with confidence, he looked like royalty. His long braid slithered off one shoulder as he readjusted his weight. Agni’s hand, possessed, came up against his will and settled on the narrow length of Ciel’s soft thigh.

“Won’t you wish me happy birthday too?” He breathed, levelling Agni with one doe-eyed blink.

Agni’s cock twitched. He tried to laugh but his breath caught, a hungry groan caught in it’s place. He squeezed the tender flesh under his hand as Ciel shifted closer, so close he could smell his husband’s cologne on his skin.

Agni had never seen Ciel kill. He found it difficult to imagine this boy could cut a throat with his small hands, could look so complacent and so beautiful after reaping so many souls.

But when the newly nineteen-year-old took Agni’s hand and moved it around to the plump swell of his ass, Agni came to terms with how lethal the kid truly was.

Selfishly, he gave his ass a squeeze. Then he laughed, aloud this time.

“What’s so funny?” Ciel drawled, cocking his head.

Agni shook his head, taking his time as he weighed the swell of Ciel’s cheek in his palm, small enough to fit into one hand. The kid had put on weight, his muscle lean from helping on the farm. Agni squeezed again, his cock smearing it’s wet tip inside his tented trousers.

“I was just thinking,” he said, tongue moving of it’s own accord when he’d had so much to drink, “about Sebastian.”

Ciel bristled. “What about him?”

Soma tensed, sitting up on his knees and sending a look towards his husband.

“When I was in my twenties," Agni wet his mouth and smiled, “I was so jealous of Diablo. I begged Sebastian to let me take him out. I’d never seen a horse like that before, I just wanted one quick ride.”

Ciel didn’t take Agni’s hand away from his ass but he placed his dainty hands against his hips.

“He said he’d kill me if I took him on a ride,” Agni continued. “But I didn’t listen. Put my saddle on Diablo and rode off the second he had his back turned.”

Agni took another drink, his mouth desperate to press against Ciel’s.

“We got into a fight. He knocked out one of my teeth, I’ll never forget how bad that hurt.”

“Baby,” Soma urged. “Get to the point.”

“I’m just trying to imagine what he would do if I took Ciel out on a ride.”

Ciel’s blush betrayed his pursed lips.

“I ain’t no horse,” he bit, seething. "And I don't belong to him."

Agni hummed. "I know, sunshine."

The man curled his fingers inwards until they splayed beneath Ciel’s underwear. Agni squeezed until the boy gasped, the pads of his fingers hooking under his firm cheek, digging in to the cleft of his legs, seeking out the hot and virgin muscle furled between them.

Ciel’s breath hitched, Agni’s fingers crooked and dragging over his untouched ass, taking his time to feel it out, long and licentious, unashamed of how hard his cock sat up at that, how he groaned when Ciel’s hole pulsed against his middle finger.

Then he pulled away, wetting his mouth, sobering himself with a chaste squeeze to his aching cock.

“I know you hate him, sunshine. But he’s my best friend,” Agni rumbled, his own voice raw with lust, “and as badly as I want to have you - I won’t.”

Ciel’s breath hitched but his face didn’t fall, only betrayed by the tense press of his full mouth. The beautiful boy, undoubtedly livid on the inside, gave the most courteous of nods.

“I understand,” he said, valiant, still shaking from the touch between his thighs.

After a moment of silence, Ciel blinked, and then he shifted closer to Agni’s lap.

“What’s your stance on kissing me?” Ciel asked, his breath bated like the man might knock him back again.

Agni turned his head to watch a filthy smirk spread over Soma’s lips, his hair falling in dark tumbles over his white-laced shoulder.

“I’m only human,” Agni grinned, reaching up to wind his fingers in the boy’s hair and drag him down for a wet kiss.

………………………………………………………………………….

 

**New Year’s Eve, 1876**

 

The whiskey didn’t taste like much.

Sebastian drained the bottle regardless, the first drink he’d had in five months. He'd avoided it on purpose – knew all the fragile, self-loathing feelings in his gut would crawl up and attack him the moment he put his lips against the lip of the liquor bottle.

And they did, sluggish and cruel, binding Sebastian to the old leather seat in his lonely house.

As the bounty hunter finished the last mouthful of his whiskey, he thought about Ciel’s curse. He wanted to laugh, his head lolling back against the chair, but he was too drunk to make a noise.

The curse was real. Sebastian had been warned, and he ignored it, to his peril.

The Phantomhive curse was to be in love with Ciel.

………………………………………………………………………….

 

**January, 1877**

 

The snow came and took the barn down with it.

The roof gave way under the weight of the snowfall, the barn crumbling and falling apart one silent Wednesday morning. Thankfully it didn’t claim any lives, all the cattle out to graze when their home came down against the earth.

Ciel pitched in to shift the broken wood, dragging the old barn across the snowfield to pile against the house. Later he would help chop it into chunks, to burn in the fireplace. But for the time being Ciel tested the strength of his healing arm, grunting as he tugged the caved-in roof behind him to the house, sweat gathering beneath his braids.

Ciel learned how to cook – slowly, with horrific results to start.

Agni showed him how to bottle peaches for the summer, stew the last of their harvest before the snow destroyed it, the kitchen rich with the smell of syrup and honeyed fruit.

Then he learned how to fry greens, how to make bread and dice onion so he wouldn’t cry. The first meal he made for his friends was burnt around the edges, thick with blackened bits that they washed down with lemonade.

………………………………………………………………………….

 

**February**

****

They rebuilt the barn with pieces from a broken wagon.

It took weeks, the first of which Ciel’s hands were blistered and his muscles sore. But by the time the new barn came up his hands had healed, and the boy laid down on the fresh spread hay to appreciate the first thing he’d ever built with his two hands.

“That should hold up for some time,” Soma said from beside him, his head dappled with sweat.

Agni gave a grunt from his other side.

“Till next winter at least,” he panted, turning his head to give both boys an unguarded smile.

Ciel stretched both arms above his head and picked at the warm hay, admiring the roof above their heads. He was tired in a pleasant way, his chest still rising and sinking in steady waves.

“Will you be here next winter?” Soma asked, turning on his side to look at him.

Ciel paused, still looking at the roof. He knew if he looked at his best friend his resolve would break, so he swallowed and focused on the rafters.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Addison’s still out there.”

He felt Soma shift closer, his head pressing to the gentle swell of Ciel’s chest. He splayed his hand against it, ear pressed to his heart, and curled his fingers in his shirt like he might get up and chase after the maggot any second now.

It made Ciel sick with guilt, still unable to look anywhere but the roof.

“You’ll always have a home here,” Agni said. “If you feel like coming back to us.”

Ciel chewed at his lip, turning his head so he could look at the older man, his smile so steady it reassured the boy, his hand seeking out Soma’s where it lay against his chest.

“I’d really like that,” Ciel said to him.

Soma made a noise against his heart, some sort of purr, and for the first time Ciel imagined something after killing Addison - something that wasn’t the barrel of his own gun.

Something a little nicer.

………………………………………………………………………….

 

**March**

 

Rabbit gave birth in the last week of March.

Ciel sat with her in the hours leading up to it, his head pressed against her cheek, whispering in French.

But when the foal came, and Ciel could see the dappled black spots against the baby’s ivory hide, he left her to be tended by Agni and he stalked back to the farm.

………………………………………………………………………….

 

 

When Ciel left the house was quiet.

The spare room was unoccupied, and Agni no longer woke to the quiet chatter of his husband and the heir, sharing secrets over cups of coffee.

All that was left of Ciel was his mare, grazing in the greening paddock with her foal. 

Two days after Ciel left, a letter came addressed to both the men.

Agni found Soma reading it, sitting on the porch with tears streaming down his cheeks. Agni’s face crumpled at the sight, sinking to his knees to pull the crying man into his arms. His husband wrapped his arms around his neck and cried into the crook of it, the letter creasing in his hand.

“What’s wrong?” Agni begged into his hair, thinking of the worst.

Soma shook his head, unable to speak, and pressed the letter to his chest. Agni unfolded it, his eyes flitting over the elegant scrawl, Ciel’s penmanship littered with stray tears.

“I don’t understand,” Agni breathed, still rubbing at his husband’s back as he tried to make sense of the letter. “What’s upset you, my prince?”

Soma shook his head, pulling the letter free to reveal the note underneath it, the lettering too dense for the older man to make sense of quickly.

“I’m not upset,” Soma sobbed, pointing at the paper. “I’m _happy_.”

That’s when Agni realised it was not a note that he was holding.

It was the deed to three-hundred-thousand dollars, made out in both his and his husband’s name.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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